Black
by Wesz
Summary: Puck, Blaine and Sam each have their own stuff going on; personal problems which are carefully hidden behind secrets. But those secrets are about to be spilled. They slowly start to rely on each other, but everything comes with a price. Before either of them realizes it, they're found in a new - and slightly odd - relationship.
1. Prologue

**Titel:** Black

**Author:** Wesz

**Genre:** Romance/Hurt/Comfort

**Pairing:** Blaine Anderson/Sam Evans/Noah Puckerman

**Rating:** T, for language.

**Summary:** Puck, Blaine and Sam each have their own stuff going on, personal problems hidden behind secrets. But those secrets are about to be spilled. They slowly start to rely on each other, but everything comes with a price. Before either of them realizes it, they're found in a new - and slightly odd - relationship.

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_Prologue_

The first night of a brand new beginning. Those were the words Sam Evans had used to convince Blaine Anderson to coming out with him. Friday night's excitement was already trying to break through the sound barrier, desperate to reach the ears of young teenagers who might be in need of a good "pick-me-up". Another phrase that Sam had voiced in an attempt to get one of his, slightly new, best friends into the mood. The reason why the curly haired boy had needed one of those was containing a name which had been forbidden to be thought of during that particular evening.

"Puck!"

No, not that one.

Even though Noah Puckerman's vision had already turned slightly blurred, numerous drinks he had consumed and lost the count of had been the cause of that, that gigantic mouth and that bowtie were things that he would always be able to recognize.

"Blam!" the Mohawked man exclaimed in a happy climax, "I mean, Sam, Blaine." It could have been considered a miracle that he had been able to hear his own verbal mistake. A little one, though.

"What…? Since when…? Are you…? Huh?" Despite the fact that Sam couldn't finish his sentence, his surprised reaction still came across.

"I think what Samuel's trying to say is: What are you doing here, Noah? Since when have you come back from Los Angeles? Are you back for good? And his mind that has gone numb," Blaine interfered helpfully, the soft punch against his shoulder not surprising him.

"Well at least you're teasing again," Sam tried to shrug off his embarrassment.

"Drinks!" The mohawked man wouldn't be himself if that hadn't been the first thing he wanted to do. Even before answering the questions from dear friends that he hadn't seen in quite a while.

After catching the bartender's attention, he ordered three of his personal favorites. He reached for the wallet in the back pocket of his jeans and paid for them. Pressing each of his friends a drink into their hands, he made his way to one of the free booths in a corner of the club. It probably couldn't be considered quiet, but at least they could hear each other properly.

"Now tell me! When did you arr-"

"Cheers!"

Noah Puckerman sure liked his drinks.

They took a big chug and Blaine, who wasn't a real fan of drinking, couldn't even trace the different flavors. Sam, however, instantly recognized Puck's signature drink; Jack Daniels and coke with a splash of grenadine, "to take the edge off".

"Yesterday," Puck finally answered, "I got sick of LA. My job wasn't really working out and when I ended up in bed with a girl that I had already done, I knew it was time to come back." His hazel eyes were focused on his glass, a satisfied smirk on his face and his shoulders almost screamed nonchalant. It was typical Puck, always indifferent and tripping on his ego. And with that, also the perfect mask.

In the meantime Blaine's eyes were darting around the room, examining the different people, composures and faces. It was something the curly haired boy occasionally did, observing what was happening around him. There was no particular reason for his odd tendency, he just did. Different questions popped up into his mind, ones that he could only answer vaguely. Would that guy know he's dancing like a moron? Probably not. Is that girl blind? Hopefully. What time would the bartender go home? Most likely around six. Is that a couple or is one of them cheating? That last thought made him turn his gaze downwards. Memories of mistakes he had made started to show themselves inside his mind again and Blaine silently cursed his curious nature, which had now dragged him into remembering things he wasn't allowed to remember. Not tonight. He had promised it to Sam. A deep sigh went passed his lips, which he was sure of no one could've heard because of all the noise in the club. But Sam had somehow still picked up on it, because the gentle and sincere smile he showed Blaine was saying more than just a friendly gesture. One of those "cheer up" smiles.

"So you're still the same famous Sex Shark." When Blaine had looked up Sam had turned his attention back to Puck again. "I gotta say, it's nice to know that you haven't changed. After all, we were best buds," he smiled goofily.

Puck rolled his eyes at that. "Dude, don't sound so gay about it." But the quick wink he shot Blaine let Sam know that he wasn't being serious. "Anyway, how have you guys been?" he tried to change the subject, slightly nervous that Sam might start to ask more questions about his time away. "Still together with that Hummel, Blaine?"

The one who was questioned sucked in his bottom lip, shrugging lightly. "It's a long story, I guess…" he answered vaguely.

"Well, I've got time," Puck grinned, oblivious to the fact that Blaine obviously didn't want to talk about it. He did pick up on the kick against his shin, though. Hell, how could he not, that Evans had been quarterback of the football team for way too long.

The badass decided to let go of the subject and therefore turned his attention back to Sam, that time carefully taking in his appearance.

"Evans, have you forgotten to extend your subscription to the gym? You're not that buffed up as when I left you." He narrowed his eyes in an acted suspicion.

The blond laughed, waving his hand in a theatrical way. "Sure, man, whatever. You just still can't stand it that I'm better looking than you are."

Puck's eyebrows shot up. "Then why is your hook-up list still shorter than mine?" he fired back, slightly annoyed by Sam stepping on his ego.

"Boys…" Blaine suddenly interrupted with a roll of his eyes. It had been done in the same way girls always did with their friends, when they were trying to hide their amusement when a guy was hitting on them.

His two friends turned their heads at the same time, showing him a weird, not-understanding look. The curly haired boy moved a little forward on his seat, slightly hovering over the table.

"You both know that I've had more ass than you two have had pussy. Combined," he said in a low tone.

"Alright, you've had enough," Sam chuckled loudly, pulling the drink from Blaine's hands while Puck was trying not to choke in his own laughter.

"Jesus Christ, man, I think that was the first time I've ever heard you say a sentence like that," he managed to voice through his salvo.

Two hours later the boys were finally done catching up with each other. Various drinks had been enjoyed in that time and their jokes and funny stories had worked as an anesthesia to each of their own personal problems. Problems that had been quietly hidden behind secrets. Secrets that were about to be spilled.

The first night of their new beginning.

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**Author's Note: Have I caught your interest? Let me know! Please, review!**


	2. Secrets

_Chapter one_

It had never really bothered Noah Puckerman that he had grown up without a dad. The asshole had ran out on him and his mom when he was a kid, so there weren't many memories he could draw from in order to miss the bastard. But when puberty hit him and his mind slowly, very slowly, started to develop, so came the questions. As he went through high school, he had started wondering more and more about the person that should've been, but wasn't, in his daily life. When his Glee Club teacher, Mr. Schuster, had practically forced everyone to sit down that one time in the auditorium to tell each other about their dreams, Puck had said that his biggest wish was to graduate. However, he didn't feel the need to tell them that his motivation was the sudden urge to start the search for his father. They probably would have laughed at him anyway, given him a lecture about that he didn't need to find his father or, even worse, help him. Hell, all those people interfering with different opinions and ideas would probably only had confused him anyway. Besides, this was his thing. He felt like he had to do it himself, because, what if there was some greater reason he didn't know of why his father had left? What if it was one of those dirty secrets that Puck needed to process? Then all of the people he knew, all his friends, would also immediately know what he had found out and then he had been forced to also deal with them. On top of that, if his mother would find out why he had wanted to go to LA, she probably wouldn't have let him. No. This was his search.

A fucking failed search, as it had turned out. But in his defense, he hadn't much to go on. His mother had been reluctant in talking about her ex-husband and if Puck hadn't known better, he was sure she was keeping a secret. Mrs. Puckerman had signed the divorce papers many years ago, which were also the only lead Puck had into finding his old man. They were sent from a courthouse in Los Angeles and ever since Puck's mom had decided to tell him that, he knew he wanted to go there.

But four months later he had returned. Maybe he had started his mission a little blunt, since he didn't have a plan whatsoever. Dressing up as some historic Romanian character to earn some money just so that he could stay longer and for what? Absolutely nothing. It was weird, because Noah never believed in stuff like fate and such, but in the end he had to admit to himself that somehow there had still been this little sense of hope that he would be able to find the next clue if he would follow the first. What a stupid mistake that had been. What was he thinking? That all the answers suddenly would come to him, just because he wanted to? Pathetic. He wasn't starring in some crappy detective movie. Hell, you had to have brains for that.

Oh, well, at least he had had plenty of time to catch up with his old, not to mention only, friend Jack. Oh, Jack, with his wonderful ways that could numb his mind and send him straight into oblivion. Jack, even more enjoyed with coke and a dash of strawberry grenadine.

"I love you, man" the hazel-eyed guy admitted softly to the glass in his hand.

To strengthen his feelings for the liquid he downed it in one chug before getting up to get a new one. He slid a hand through his mohawk, secretly checking if it was still presentable and he pulled down the black wife beater that was perfectly accentuating the muscles in his chest. The music was blasting through his ears as colorful lights lit up the room and he banged his head exaggeratingly as he made his way through the crowd, his destination the bar.

"Puck!"

The "cheer up" smile that was shown to him had only pulled Blaine Anderson out of his thoughts for a split moment. As soon as the conversation had went on, time had seemed to stand still and he had gotten dragged back into that one night in New York, his favorite red bowtie seeming to tighten around his throat.

"That was kind of…moving," Kurt had voiced hesitatingly, nervously fumbling with his hands as we walked along the park, Rachel and Finn ahead of us, "guess I've been kind of wondering why that was…"

I swallowed, the guilt already starting to nibble at my heart. Maybe singing our song "Teenage Dream" in that bar hadn't been my greatest idea, since I was on the verge of breaking down and totally messed it up, but I just felt like doing it. Perhaps I wanted to show Kurt how much I was hurting myself because of what I had done, even though he didn't even knew my secret in that moment.

"Well…err…you know…I really missed you," I responded, my heart throbbing inside my chest. I didn't want to back out of telling him, but I also didn't want to drop it on him like that. Besides, it had been a mistake to meet up with that guy I met through the internet and I regretted it.

"I miss you too. And I'm really glad that you're here, but…" Kurt sucked in a breath while he didn't lose my gaze, "you've been so emotional and…weirdly sad…please, stop pretending that there's nothing wrong."

He could always see right through me. We stopped walking and…even though his eyes were intimidating me, I couldn't look away. The lump had already started to form in my throat, but I wanted to be honest.

"I was with someone," I said, not even trying to sound nonchalant about it, because we both knew what it meant. Tears welled up in Kurt's eyes and I watched, torn.

"It was Sebastian, wasn't it?"

"No, it…" I couldn't restrain my slight annoyance from coming through. It had been the obvious thought, of course, but still. "No, it wasn't Sebastian, but that doesn't…" I breathed out for a moment. "It didn't mean anything, okay?" I started tearing up myself. "Look, it was just a hook-up."

"With who was it?"

"It doesn't matter with who it was with, Kurt, what matters is that I was by myself. That I needed you. I needed you around and you weren't there." Another breath. "I was lonely and…I'm really sorry…"

Blaine knew that there was no excuse for what he had done to his former boyfriend, but somehow he couldn't stop feeling like his action had been a reaction to something else. A shout out for help to the one he loved, but one that he had handled stupidly. He should have just told him that he was feeling alone and lost, but he had chosen the high road. On the other hand, he had even started to debate if he should go back to Dalton Academy, since McKinley High didn't feel like home anymore. Still, the teenage boy knew he had been wrong, but at that moment, when he was with that other guy, it had felt good, and warm. And resulted in the end of his relationship… Kurt and Blaine hadn't talked ever since that night in New York and Blaine still regretted it. He couldn't get over the fact that he had been so stupid to shoot something so wonderful to hell.

He shook his head in an attempt to get rid of the thoughts in his head, trying to focus onto the conversation between Sam, the one who had supported him the last couple of months. And Noah, a guy he knew had his respect, even though he would probably never show it, apart from that one time when all of the guys from Glee Club had helped him study. Still, he liked Noah and he was confident that the badass liked him, too. He smiled when Puck shot him a wink, knowing that the guy still felt the need to show that he was comfortable with him being gay.

"Evans, have you forgotten to extend your subscription to the gym? You're not that buffed up as when I left you."

His friends probably didn't notice it, but Sam Evans' body tensed up at that particular comment. Not because his ego had been slightly stepped on, but because one of his friends had noticed something that had more meaning than he probably knew of.

You see, it wasn't like Sam had wanted to lose weight. It just had sort of happened. He had been so busy lately with so many different things that he sometimes just forgot about eating. The first time he had noticed was a couple of weeks ago, on a Tuesday. It had appeared that he had failed Math again miserably and the D on his English exam wasn't doing great things for his mood either. On top of that, his little brother had gotten sick and Glee Club had this new, big duet assignment that he still had to start working on. At around 9 p.m. the blond started to get a headache and where at first he thought that it was because he had been working on his homework for the past four hours, it later occurred to him that he hadn't eaten anything all day.

And that was how it started. After that day, his problems had only started to weigh down on him more and Sam still felt responsible for everything that was going on around him. All of his time was getting into helping others and slowly, almost unnoticeable, he lost the natural urge to first care about himself. Stress became a common part inside his body and mind and when Sam felt like he was doing everything, absolutely everything, in his power to change things around and it still didn't happen, he felt like he was losing his grip. His knees were wobbling on the ground of his own life and there was nothing he could do about it.

But somehow, lying in bed and summing up what he had eaten each day, soothed him. He tried to turn it into a hobby that would put his mind off his daily sorrows. So he started to keep an eye on calories. At first just casually, but later he started to set targets for himself, still thinking of it as just a game that would release his stress, like working out used to do. The comic freak hadn't seen the harm in his new habit, but then again, naivety had been in his nature all along.

"Sure, man, whatever. You just still can't stand it that I'm better looking than you are."

That answer showed that somewhere in Sam's subconscious, he knew what was going on with him was wrong. It wasn't enough, though, to give up – for what it felt like – his last grip on his life.

Two hours later the boys were finally done catching up with each other. Various drinks had been enjoyed in that time and their jokes and funny stories had worked as an anesthesia to each of their own personal problems. But as to every other drug, it had come to an end and Blaine's buzz was the first one that got killed, walking off with the excuse that he ne "needed some air".

"What's going on with him?" Puck turned to Sam, a confused look on his face after he had lost sight of the tight red jeans the curly haired boy was wearing, noticing that he wasn't even surprised by them anymore. He had known Blaine for quite a while now and, in comparison to his boyfriend Kurt, the little guy wasn't as fashionably gay, which Puck only could appreciate. It wasn't as if he was bothered by the oddly inspired choosing of clothing, hell, he thought that everyone could and should be who they wanted to be, but he had always still had more appreciation for the former Warbler than for the Hummel.

Sam pursed his lips into a thin line, debating if he should tell Puck what had happened. But then he remembered that it hadn't been a secret and the mohawked man and Blaine were still friends.

"Kurt broke up with him…because he cheated," Sam briefly explained.

Puck upped an eyebrow and balled his fists. "I'm gonna kill that fucking fairy first time I lay my eyes on him…"

"What?" Sam looked up bluntly, "oh, wait, no! Blaine was the one who cheated." He sighed at himself for that he hadn't picked up on his own vagueness, rubbing his upper arm for a moment before he crossed them in front of his chest.

"Really? Blaine?" Puck asked for confirmation, who clearly hadn't been expecting that. "Huh, who would've have ever figured that…"

"Can you at least try to show some more sympathy?" Sam interrupted him, annoyance sounding through his voice. The question was rhetorical, because he had known Noah long enough now to know that the badass had some sense of morality. Especially if it were about his friends. He just needed to be reminded to let go of his badass alter-ego for a moment, every now and then.

"Hey! I feel bad for the Hobbit," Puck defended himself and in the meantime confirming Sam's image about the boy, "I just don't understand how you can be so heartbroken over something you screwed up yourself."

Sam shook his head, his hand rubbing his forehead. "Then why don't you go and ask him?" he offered, "seriously though, Puck, stop being a jerk. He needs a friend."

Puck opened his mouth to say something, but then just nodded. Even though he didn't understand, he still cared about Blaine. "You're sounding gay again." He couldn't restrain himself from making one last comment before he started to make his way outside, earning an unheard chuckle from Sam.

Outside, Blaine was to be found on the edge of the pavement on the corner of the street. It was the more quiet part, away from the parking lot. Puck stared at the boy for a moment, who was quietly sipping from his glass as he was watching the nothingness in front of him.

"Hey, buddy." The unexpected, familiar voice made him look up.

"Hi," the indifferent response sounded.

Puck sat down next to his friend, clenching his jaw for a moment as he thought of what to say. Should he pretend like he didn't know what had happened and let Blaine spill it himself or should he just jump right into it?

"So, you're heartbroken, huh?" Yeah, the second one had seemed more in character to him.

His friend sighed, turning down his gaze before he shrugged. "I don't even know anymore, Noah," his voice sounded a little muffled, "I mean, I still feel guilty and I clearly haven't gotten over him. And…" He swallowed the words he was wanting to say. "…I'm just wondering how much longer it will take."

Silently nodding, Puck sat there. "Well…I can't tell you that, I think. I mean, hell, I hardly feel guilty over anything." He failed to cheer Blaine up. Another short silence fell around them before the taller one decided to try again. "Maybe you just need some more time…"

The curly haired boy just shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know," he replied in a long, deep sigh.

"Do you wanna go back inside? You know, try to have some fun and make you forget?" Puck offered after a while.

"Come on, Blainers. Let's dance!" Sam suddenly sounded behind them. He ruffled the boy's hair playfully. "And don't tell me you don't want to, because I know that you've been fantasizing about getting on this stripper body." The blond made a body roll, smiling goofily as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, man, you can pretend you've got two boyfriends for a night," Puck chuckled as he stood up from the ground.

Blaine made a swinging motion with his upper body as if he was debating the option, but the blushed grin on his face had already given him away. So a second later he felt four strong hands picking him up from the pavement and steadying him on his feet. Then, one muscled arm wrapped around his shoulders as the other found his place around his waist.

"Woo!" Sam exclaimed excitingly as they made their way back inside.

"You're sounding gay about it."

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**Author's Note: I couldn't be bothered waiting to post the official first chapter. The second is written, but has to be checked first. Don't forget to subscribe and to review!**


	3. Miserable Mondays

_Chapter two_

With his target set at 800, Sam Evans made his way downstairs. It was the Monday after his Friday night out and, naturally, the blond wasn't really looking forward to get into the common, weekly perils. His resolution for that week had been to avoid as much stress as he could, but as soon as he entered the kitchen of his family's house, he knew that was in vain. With his young siblings loudly bickering around the kitchen table, his mother desperately screaming for some order and his dad looking through the morning newspaper – still in his bathrobe, since he didn't have a job to go to anyway. Sam's stomach groaned and rumbled, which made him roll his eyes at himself in annoyance. As a weird, contradicting solution, the blond grabbed an apple from the kitchen counter, instead of his morning cereal. The same cereal he had loved so much since he was little. The teenager thought that, if he felt hungry, he should eat something less than he normally would. It didn't make sense, at all, but to him it did. Maybe it served as punishment for his body, which suddenly had seemed more like this third person than his own self. And if you wanted someone to stop doing something, but they ended up doing it anyway, you needed to punish them.

"Stacy, get dressed now or so God help me, you won't see any TV for a week," Mrs. Evans grumbled.

See, his mom did it too.

"Anything in there, dad?" Sam asked after he had sat down, casually enjoying his change in breakfast preference.

"No…I'm either not qualified enough or they're advertising for unpaid internships," Dwight Evans muttered in response, a helpless sigh leaving his lungs.

"You know…I could still pick up my old job, if we really need the money…" his son offered, even though he didn't know where he would get the time to do so.

"No, Sam. We've come back to Lima so that you can finally enjoy being a teenager, not to be the provider of the family."

"But, dad, I don't mind…" At least it was half a lie. Sam couldn't stop feeling responsible nor could he ignore the urge to help out wherever he could, even though that meant getting back to his job in the strip club. It had been an accident finding it, but considering the club was only open at night, it had fitted perfectly into Sam's schedule. He would go to school during the day and earn some hundreds in the evenings. Sure, it wasn't a job to be proud of, but at that time he had figured, why not? His body was in amazing shape and it didn't involve complete nudity nor was there any touching. He would just give a lap dance to some random bachelorette and with that, in his underwear crammed, money his family had to be able to pay some bills. When his parents had asked where the money had come from he had, of course, lied. His mom already felt guilty for him getting a job altogether, so imagine if Sam had told her that her innocent son had become a stripper. She probably wouldn't be able to look at him anymore, probably not even at herself.

But all that was in the past, because there had been a time when things were looking up for Sam and his family. They had moved to another town, where his dad did find a job, but then that didn't work out for a long time and in the end the blond had been missing his friends and even his old school. After the conversation of being tired of being forced to grow up, his parents decided to try again in Lima. His dad had to find a new job anyway, so Mr. and Mrs. Evans figured that they could at least do it in a town where their oldest child felt at home or could live somewhat of a normal teenage life.

The horn that sounded outside pulled Sam out of his thoughts. He threw the rest of his apple into the bin, grabbed the lunch his mom had so lovingly prepared for him and made his way to the hallway.

"Have fun at school, honey!" his mom had still managed to say before the door got slammed.

A soft smile painted Sam's face as he laid eyes on his friend in the car. He walked around, opened the door and settled himself in the passenger's seat.

"Good morning, Samuel," Blaine greeted him in that cheerful way he always did. Sam had always wondered how the boy could be so excited on a Monday morning, but he never bothered to ask.

"Morning, Blaine, how was your weekend?" he therefore asked.

The curly haired one sighed before answering. "It was alright, thanks…yours?"

Sam shrugged. "Same as usual, doing homework, failing to relax and getting annoyed by my brother and sister." It sounded more bitterly than he had intended, than he should have intended, actually, because knowing Blaine…

"Are you alright? I can help you out with some stuff if you want to."

Precisely. Blaine would go all helpful. And even though Sam knew that the boy's intentions were good, the blond didn't want his help. It would probably end up in telling him everything that was going on in his life and Sam wasn't ready for that. Nor for the lecture about his eating habits.

So he forced a smile onto his face and turned to him. "Nah, it's fine. I'm a little grumpy because I've just woken up. I didn't mean to sound so negative," he saved himself.

Blaine pursed his lips and nodded silently. "Alright, if you say so…"

"Oh, by the way, have you done your Chemistry assignments?" Sam decided to throw the conversation onto another subject.

"No," his friend snorted, "I've been studying for the Spanish test, which I've heard, is a real piece of work."

A stinging pain went through Sam's forehead when the palm of his hand hit his skin. "Crap! I totally forgot about that one!" he exclaimed helplessly, followed by some silent inside cursing. A groan escaped from his throat as he sank more into his seat.

Blaine mouthed an "oh", a look on his face that said "you're in trouble", but still tried to be supportive. "You'll be fine. Maybe it isn't that hard…" It didn't sound really convincing.

When the boys had arrived at school, Sam opened his bag and searched for the sandwiches that were meant for lunch. "Sorry, mom," he softly apologized as he threw them into the trash. Knowing that he would fail his Spanish test today forced him to downgrade his calorie target. At least then he wouldn't feel like a total disaster at the end of the day.

He and Blaine got to their lockers to change the books they had been needing over the weekend for the ones that were required for their first classes. Blaine was the first one to finish and after looking around the hallway for a moment he turned back to his friend, casually leaning against the metal.

"Hey, do you have any plans for tonight? Because this new movie has just gotten out and I've found a great download link on the internet," he offered, the small sparkle of hope not sounding through his voice.

"What's it about?" Sam asked, his interest obviously caught, the movie freak.

"It's about this group of women in college who sing Acapella songs. It's called Pitch Perfect," Blaine explained, "I figured with Glee Club and all it might be fun to watch."

Sam showed him an excited smile and nodded. "Yeah, sure. I'll come by your place later today."

"I was thinking of inviting Noah, too, but I don't know if he'd be into such movie," Blaine hesitated out loud.

His friend chuckled. "Oh, come on, you know Puck. He would never admit it, but secretly he loves that stuff. Invite him, it's nice to be with the three of us again."

Then the bell sounded through the corridor, announcing first period was about to start. Sam left with a pad on Blaine's shoulder, who released a relieved sigh when his friend had walked away. At least he wouldn't be alone tonight. It had become tiring, though, always finding excuses to invite Sam to hang out. But Blaine needed it. It wasn't necessarily about Sam, even though the guy was hot and if Blaine hadn't still been in love with Kurt, he would surely have a little crush on him, but more about the being with someone part.

Since the break up, Blaine had found out that he and Kurt had always been spending time together, but now that they weren't an item anymore, Blaine had felt more lonely with every day. It also probably didn't help that his parents were quite the ambitious career ones and that they, with their good job, could afford to live in – what almost was – a mansion, situated on the edge of Lima. A house which wasn't even needed, considering his mom was making insanely long hours and his dad was often travelling for business. Not to mention his older brother, who had moved out long ago. Still, it had never bothered Blaine, because he hadn't been around that often himself. After elementary school he had chosen to go to Dalton Academy, which was an all boys high school with a campus. The decision had been made with lots of consideration and it had obstructed Blaine from being alone all the time. Then Kurt had gone there for a while, because he was being bullied at McKinley High. He had went back, though, and because of their relationship, Blaine ended up switching too. But now that Kurt had graduated and was following his dreams in New York, the teenager didn't spend much time with people around him anymore. The loneliness would come to him immediately after he came home from school and had entered the silent house that was supposed to be his home. That first moment of only hearing his own footsteps echoing against the walls still weigh down on him harshly, but in comparison to the weekends that had still been a small thing. Blaine had tried to spend his Saturdays out in town, but even in a place full of people the boy couldn't help but feel alone. And where his Sundays had usually involved spending the day in bed, watching movies – or America's Next Top Model – with Kurt, they were now spent mourning over all those happy times.

It had been the reason Blaine always seemed in such a good mood on Monday morning, a day which was hated by probably every teenager in the world. But to him, it was a relief. Especially since Sam and he had become such good friends over the past months. The blond had supported him many times and even though Blaine still wasn't the same boy he used to be, spending time with his new friend did help. The only thing that bothered Blaine was that he could sometimes swear that Sam wasn't doing okay, like this morning, but every time the smaller one would ask about it, Sam faked a smile and waved it away. Blaine accepted that, since he figured that some people were just more personal about their problems. In contrast to Blaine, who seemed to spray his grief all over the place.

Oh, well, in the end everyone had their own ways in dealing with their issues. Still, it would've been a nice distraction for Blaine to help Sam figure some stuff out, or even tutor him, it would mean less loneliness for him. And the curly haired boy knew Sam needed, his grades hadn't been so well lately.

Lunchtime came surprisingly fast to Blaine, whilst for others it had probably been taking hours. He sat down at their usual table. Sam had already been there and Blaine couldn't restrain a chuckle escaping from his mouth when he saw the boy desperately scrolling through his Spanish book.

"Samuel, let it go. It's not the end of the world," Blaine spoke as he sat down, putting his tray with gross cafeteria food in front of him. "Put the book away and get yourself some food." He looked down at the consumables presented to him. "Or something that comes close to food."

Sam groaned, putting his book away before he rested his head on the table. "I'm not hungry," he mumbled dramatically.

His friend shook his head in disagreement, he had noticed that Sam hadn't been eating regularly, but didn't have the guts to say something about it. As said before, some people didn't like sharing their problems.

"You gotta eat something, though," Blaine gave in to the urge to at least try.

"I know," Sam sighed, "but not now, I'm just not feeling like it."

Blaine forfeited with a shrug of his shoulders and started searching for his phone in his pocket. No messages. It didn't come as a surprise, but Blaine had still secretly hoped to have heard something from Kurt. But it slowly started to occur to him that that would never happen again. He had screwed up and his only option was to accept it.

"Let it go, Blaine. It happened. Now move on."

"Since when are you a mind reader, Samuel?" Blaine fired back, a small grin on his face. Apparently he was an open book.

"You're just really easy to read."

Speculation confirmed.

Silence fell in between the boys as Blaine tried to enjoy his lunch, while Sam was over-thinking the stressful things he really shouldn't be thinking of, at all. And they both weren't aware of it, but the two friends were actually doing the same thing. At one point, they were even debating the same option, maybe each in their own way, but the outcome showed many similarities. It was Blaine who gave in first.

"Hey, Sam…if you would let me, I could really give you a hand with your English. I've been a tutor at Dalton and I had even gotten Noah to studying at one point, so I'm sure I can help you a lot."

"That would be nice…actually."

And that was the start of them supporting each other, totally oblivious. Or maybe there really was a subconscious that would tell them to do normal things that actually had a greater meaning. It would be starting small, with Blaine feeling less lonely and some stress release for Sam, but end up in salvation for the both of them.

For the three of them, actually.

Because two hours after lunch time on that particular Monday, Noah Puckerman had already been at the liquor store, praising himself for being able to make a perfect, fake ID. With his BFF Jack, covered in a paper bag, in his hand, he made his way back home. As soon as his mom had announced to go grocery shopping, Puck had quickly decided to do some of that himself. He had to get home soon, though, if he didn't want to hear his lady rant about his "unnecessary and disturbing" habit. So the ride home with his truck had been fast, and maybe slightly dangerous, but he had managed. Jack and him would be able to spend some quality time without getting interrupted for a little while.

If he was asked, Noah would always say that he liked the taste. He wasn't the most clever guy on earth, but even he knew that "wanting to forget" wasn't a correct answer to the question why he always seemed to drink so much. He had just figured that life somehow seemed to be more fun when he was tipsy – or hammered – and at least he wouldn't be blaming himself for being such a failure. The search for his father had been a big joke and he wasn't doing absolutely anything now that he had returned to Ohio. That's right, no college, no job, no nothing. Just himself and his bottled friend.

And now that he had finished half of his drink, Puck could say that life was good. He had all the time in the world to do anything he wanted – not that he was doing something with it, but still – and he didn't have much to worry about. Sure, the many questions he had about his dad hadn't disappeared from his mind for even a split second, but he figured that there wasn't much he could do about it anyway.

But despite the fact that the Puckerman hadn't much to worry about it, he still felt miserable. His life was a joke and instead of doing something about it, he locked himself in his old bedroom and numbed himself from everything. If he hadn't run into his old friends last Friday night, he probably would've felt even more of a failure. It had felt nice to be around them again, as if he hadn't been away for four months. Sam was still the same dorky, and in a way cute, guy and Blaine was still decent and well-rounded, features Puck could learn a lot from. Catching up with them had been fun and it made Puck realize how much he had actually missed them for all that time. During high school, Sam had been his main man and Blaine would always help him out with studying. Hell, they were practically best friends, even though the rest of the Glee Club probably didn't know that.

Then the phone on his desk made a buzzing sound, which made Puck get up from his lying down position on the bed to grab it. Blaine had sent him a text, inviting him over for a movie night. Puck grinned at the screen and typed back that he was in. He made sure not to show all of his excitement, because that would probably be a bit too much, since he still carried the badass title. With a couple of big gulps he emptied his bottle of, to him sane, liquid. The buzz seemed kick in immediately, which caused a loud singing to be heard through the Puckerman's household while Noah was in the shower. After his personal serenade he got dressed, deciding on nothing too fancy, but something he would still look good in. He always had this tendency to show off his huge biceps and amazing pecs, so that was why his closet mostly involved tight shirts. And maybe, just maybe, he didn't want to miss out on the attracted look Blaine would give him and Sam's slightly jealous, self-consciousness.

The trip downstairs was taken with too much enthusiasm, because as soon as he entered the living room, his mom was there giving him an annoyed look.

"Do you have to bounce down the stairs? The whole house was shaking," she commented slightly irritated.

"Do you have to nag me every time I see you?" Puck heard himself fire back, already mentally kicking himself for talking with such a slur.

"What?!" His mother got up from her place on the sofa, slamming her magazine on the coffee table before she walked over towards her son. With one hand holding his face at his chin, she examined him carefully, suspicion showing when she narrowed her eyes.

"Are you drunk?!" she exclaimed the rhetorical question when she had noticed, "for crying out loud, Noah, it has just turned evening. And it's a Monday!"

Puck couldn't help but chuckle softly at her disappointment. "Well, it's not like the days of the week make any difference to my life."

"Then maybe you should start looking for a job," his mom bit back, returning her hand. "Where are you going anyway?"

"Blaine's. Movie night," The answer sounded briefly.

"Of course. And that required being shitfaced beforehand?" It was obvious that her son's behavior was upsetting Mrs. Puckerman.

Puck shrugged it off. "No, I just felt like it."

His mom sat back down on the sofa, shaking her head in disagreement. "Well, let's hope that you won't end up like your father."

Something snapped inside Noah when his mind made sense of those words. He clenched his jaw, balled his fists and tried to catch his mom's gaze. "What do you mean?"

Just then it had gone through to Mrs. Puckerman what she had said and she quickly changed her attitude to something less provoking, closing her eyes briefly to calm herself down, something Puck still had to learn. "Nothing," she answered controlled, "I shouldn't have said that."

"No! No, mom, tell me what you meant with that!" Puck had now raised his voice, a glimpse of desperation caught in it.

"Noah," his mother looked up to meet her sons gaze, "let it go. I shouldn't have said that."

The thing that had at first snapped now burst and Puck took a more aggressive stand. "Tell me. Now. Mom!" he shouted, "he's my dad! I deserve some fucking answers!" Adrenaline was rushing through his veins, along with the alcohol that was only strengthening his emotions. The desperation, the anger, all the emotions hit him like a train crash and he dug his nails into the palm of his balled hand, trying to keep himself from punching something.

He failed.

"Bye, Noah."

A frustrated groan sounded through the house and Puck's fist met one of the walls. His mom shocked and looked up, taken off guard by her son's outburst.

"Please, don't turn into your father," her unheard prayer sounded. Puck had already been out the door, angrily making his way over to Blaine's house. Or mansion, because damn, that thing was a fucking fortress. He had been there a couple of times and the size of it still amazed him, always wondering why he and his parents had needed so much space, even at the time when Blaine's brother Cooper yet lived with them.

Still grumbling, Puck arrived at Blaine's house. He rang the doorbell, impatiently hopping on the ball of his heels. Bouncing footsteps sounded from the other side before the door got opened and Puck was greeted by a bright smiling Blaine.

"Hey, Noah."

"Hobbit," Puck responded, trying to let go of his annoyance, but failing miserably.

"Sam's already upstairs," his friend explained, "how are you?"

The badass sucked in a breath through his nose, held it for a moment and then let it slip out, trying to settle himself down a little. "I'm alright, a little tipsy, though," he chuckled.

"You've been hanging out with Jack, haven't you?" A mixture of disappointment and humor was weaved through Blaine's voice.

"Yup," Puck confirmed his expectations, "he's my best friend."

Blaine didn't know how to respond to that, just shaking his head, so he did as they entered his bedroom, where a certain blond had already installed himself on the carpet. "Hey, Puck, what's up?" Sam smiled sincerely.

"Nothing much," the one in question sighed.

The comic freak got up to give him a friendly hug, but backed away when he smelled his breath. "Oh, hello, Jack," he joked, waving his hand in front of his face. "I didn't know he was coming too."

Puck smirked as he shrugged it off, dropping himself on the edge of the bed. "So, what are we watching?"

"Pitch Perfect," Blaine answered while he searched for the movie on his laptop, "it's about this Acapella group, I think it's really great."

"Ah, a bunch of girls and fags singing happy songs…that sounds familiar," Puck said with slight irony and sarcasm, which made Sam turn around.

"Oh, come on, man. You love this kind of stuff."

Puck held his friend's gaze for a moment, a bored look on his face until he couldn't last it for any longer.

"Maybe a little," he admitted casually, moving himself to sit down on the floor, just like his friends. He didn't notice the wink Sam shot towards Blaine, a reference to what the blond had said earlier that day.

"So, any news from McKinley?" Puck asked after a while.

"I'm gonna be Sam's tutor."

"Blaine!"

"What? Is that weird?" the curly haired boy asked with a confused look on his face.

"Yeah, Sam? Is that weird?" Puck had also turned to look at the blond, his eyebrows pointing upwards, expectantly.

Sam's green eyes darted from Blaine's dark ones to Puck's hazel's and he swallowed. "No…" He knew perfectly well that if he'd say it sounded lame that Noah would probably smack him for it, so he decided to keep his mouth shut.

"Good boy," Puck responded with a satisfied grin. Which made Sam roll his eyes and bump his fist against his shoulder.

Blaine watched his friends, letting out another relieved sigh. It felt great to be around them. No loneliness, no thinking about Kurt, just company that took his mind off of things. But he had still noticed that Puck seemed to have been a little worked up when he arrived at his house and, as usual, Blaine didn't know if he should say something about it or not. Noah had always been a guy that was hard to track, as far as Blaine was concerned he could explode and walk off at any given time.

"I don't mean to pry, Noah, but are you alright? You looked kind of…odd…when I opened the door."

His curious nature got the best of him.

Puck had been taken off guard by Blaine's outspoken observation and for a moment he didn't know how to respond. Debating if he wanted to tell his friends about what had happened at home or not, he straddled a hand through his mohawk. His long silence was now alerting Sam and the blond scooted a little closer as he waited patiently for what was about to come.

The hazel-eyed boy realized that if he would tell his friends about his fallout with his mom, he was obligated to also explain the real reason why he had left to LA. And even though Puck thought the opposite of it, it was now fortunate that a drunk mind always spoke a sober heart, because before he knew it, the words were spilling from his mouth.

"I've been searching for my father the past couple of months…and I failed. My mom refuses to talk about him and the only lead she gave me were the divorce papers that she had received thirteen years ago, they were sent from Los Angeles." He averted his gaze to the floor as he sucked in a breath. "Tonight I sort of exploded…but it's whatever." He tried to get back to his careless composure, shrugging it off.

"Noah…" Blaine sighed softly, "why didn't you tell us? We could've helped."

Puck scoffed at that. "And then what? I'd have to look at your face, who would have been full of pity. I don't need that."

Sam frowned, kind of offended. "Dude, how could you say that? We don't do that to make you feel bad. It's just…"

"…We care about you," Blaine jumped in to finish Sam's sentence when he noticed that the boy's struggle.

"Yeah."

Then a weird rumble sounded through the room, earning Sam two weird looks. His stomach was grumbling again and all he could do was embarrassedly laughing it off. Great timing, you moron.

"Thanks, guys," Puck decided to give in to their sympathy, "but it doesn't matter anymore. I didn't find anything in LA, so it's a dead end. I guess I'm just not meant to have a father."

"That's bullshit, Puck, and you know it," Sam said, padding his hand on his friend's back.

"Or maybe it's for the better," Blaine voiced softly, "I mean…I'd like to believe that everything happens for a reason…"

"Oh, so your break up with Kurt was for the better?" He didn't know why he felt the urge to attack Blaine of a sudden. Puck knew it was a low blow.

The curly haired boy showed a weak smile, his body weighing down on the one hand he had put down on the carpet. "Well…yeah…maybe in time I'll figure out what it is."

Puck picked up on the upset look Sam was giving him, so he extracted his arm to wrap it around Blaine's shoulders. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

When Blaine was about to say that it was okay, Sam's stomach decided to start the third World War, which made both of his friends look up.

"Can someone please put some food in there? Jesus fucking Christ," Puck groaned, rubbing his forehand with his free hand.

Blaine started laughing at that, resting his face on top of the mohawked man's knee while that same guy was granted another shoulder bump. Sam ruffled Blaine's dark hair as he always did with a loud "shut up", smiling through his nerves.

When their laughter had died, Blaine went back to his laptop again, starting the movie he wanted to see. He turned around to find his spot next to Puck again, who had somehow sobered up a little. But putting an arm around Blaine's shoulders had felt pretty nice, probably just because of the physical contact, so he did it again. Sam watched as he did so, a dorky smile pulling on the corners of his lips.

They had never questioned the intimate moments they had every now and then, somehow it had always felt right. The boys had figured through some trial and error over the years that they could be themselves around each other, so it wasn't a big deal. It probably even wouldn't have made a difference if Blaine had been straight. They were open with each other, and some friendly affection from time to time wasn't something to be ashamed of. It was another one of those unspoken thoughts all three of them had, but were never voiced.

"Group hug!" Sam announced, wrapping his arms around his friends.

"Sam. Seriously. Stop sounding so gay."

* * *

**Author's Note: I hope you guys liked it!**


	4. Triangle

_Chapter three_

The rest of the school week had been uneventful. Blaine's dad had come back from his business trip for a day or two, but had already been back at the airport by Friday. The day before that Sam had received his expected F for the Spanish test and even though he had been expecting it, it still annoyed him. Especially when he started to calculate the averages of all his classes and found out that he was failing most of them. Luckily for him, Thursday night had been crowned tutoring night by Blaine, so there was a slight chance that his English would improve before Christmas. December had just started to spread its holiday joy, which would leave him with three weeks before break. Three weeks in where Puck would be wondering when his mother would stop ignoring him. Since his outburst there hadn't been much words exchanged in the Puckerman's household and, okay, maybe he should've apologized for his behavior last Monday, but he felt that some of the things he had said were rightful. Where his mother was probably left with questions about her son's well-being, Puck had been continuously asking himself if his dad had been an alcoholic. His mom's comment had been too typical to be just something random.

So you could say that Noah was glad that Saturday was knocking on the door, because Saturday meant weekend, which meant his drinking could be reasoned. But when he was about to walk out of the door, Sam had decided to take a day off of his studying and invited him over to play some videogames. So while Puck made his way over to Sam's instead of the liquor store, Blaine had decided to spend the day in bed, which he knew would end up in memorizing his times with Kurt. However, this time, the boy had a plan. He figured that, if he really wanted to get over his broken heart, that he should try remembering the bad times with his ex and so come to the conclusion that the break up had been for the better. The way his voice would squeak when he got upset, for example. Or…or when New York got so interesting that Blaine didn't seem to exist anymore. Or maybe the time when Kurt got jealous because of his kiss with Rachel and how hypocritical he was about the option that Blaine might be bisexual, not gay, even though that turned out to be untrue.

But no matter how hard the dark-eyed boy tried, his memories would always end happily. And it made him miss Kurt so much. So much that it just ached inside his chest. So much that laying there, in his king-sized, in his most comfortable PJ's with his favorite chick-flick movie showing on his laptop, wasn't making him feel even remotely better. His bare feet touched the warm carpet as he felt a sudden urge coming up for ice cream. The halls were taunting him with the sound of his echoing footsteps, reminding him that he was, indeed, alone. A feeling that he never seemed to get used to, because no matter how many thick clothes he wore or how much he turned up the heating in the house, he would always have that cold rush sneering through his body. The ice cold realization of his loneliness. A loneliness he wanted to get over, but couldn't without feeling sad or pathetic for inviting one of his friends over. Again. Little did Blaine know that both Sam and Puck could use his wise words, because without him, they only had distracting videogames.

"You suck!" Puck exclaimed, his controller up in the air, ready to be thrown across Sam's bedroom in his angry rant.

The blond could only laugh over his friend's defeat. "Then why are you losing?" he fired back, irony coating his voice.

"Because…because…" The sentence was finished by a frustrated groan. It was fucking ridiculous anyway, Puck rocked this shooting game, so Sam was definitely cheating.

"Another round?" Sam offered, noticing that his best friend was still on the verge of smashing his controller against the wall.

"Whatever," Puck's lousy respond sounded, focusing his eyes on the screen again.

Videogames had been their thing since forever. The boys would always challenge each other in their subconsciously frustration, finding that blowing each other's heads off could be really…nurturing. But there had been times where putting their minds off of things wasn't working, just postponing dealing with their issues. The two teenagers would lie in bed, twisting and turning because they couldn't get comfortable, over-thinking their issues until deep into the night – even Puck did, although many people didn't consider him a great thinker.

They knew something was really bothering them when Puck would turn to Blaine for some wise words, optional solutions. Or Sam would go to Puck to pull him back down to earth. Or when Blaine would take an awkward chance into giving Sam a hug, in need of some warmth. It completed the triangle and was the main reason why the three different boys had become friends with each other. Because even though that they had their own way in comforting one another, the best moments had been when it were all three of them. The triangle would turn into a blissful circle where, in the end, nothing really had much meaning anymore.

It was something they had never thought about nor realized, but was surely there. And it always started, with videogames.

Eight rounds and three buckets of ice cream – for Blaine – later, dusk had fallen around Lima. In moments, the misery of the youngest of the three friends would hit its peak and the oldest of them would become hungry.

"I'm ordering pizza, do you want one?" Puck offered, not waiting for an answer as he was already searching for the mobile in his pocket.

"Nah, I'm good, tha-"

"Yeah, hi, can I get two large pepperoni specials with extra cheese?" The mohawked man put his hand on the speaker for a moment. "Shut up, you always want pizza," he hissed.

Sam allowed the air to flee from his lungs, which resulted in a deep sigh that – if Puck wouldn't be so oblivious – told a story. The blond was already near his set target of 400 calories that day and if he would eat the whole pizza, he would double that easily. While pursing his lips, he thought of a way to get out of, what seemed, his death. Maybe if he would set Puck up with a game when the pizza arrived, he wouldn't pay much attention to how much Sam was eating. He had already calculated that he could eat one slice. Two, if he would loosen the strings on himself a little, which actually wasn't really an option.

"Great. Thanks, later." Puck hang up and got back to his more relaxed position on the floor, suddenly noticing that Sam had begun nervously fumbling with his fingers.

"You okay, bro?" he asked, slight concern in his voice.

"Huh? What?" Sam got pulled out of his thoughts. "Oh, yeah, of course. I'm fine," he forced a smile onto his face.

Twenty minutes later the doorbell rang and Puck was the first one to get up to run downstairs. It hadn't taken him very long before he had started to feel at home at the Evans' place. They were very friendly people and, unlike other parents, they had actually given Noah a chance before judging him on his appearance. Unlike Blaine's mother, who had granted him a disgusted look the first time she laid eyes on the mohawk. Then again, it didn't matter that the bitch didn't like him, since Blaine's parents were never home anyway. And for a split moment, right before he opened the door and took the pizzas from the delivery boy, he asked himself if Blaine wouldn't be very lonely from time to time.

But the smell of junk food infiltrated his nose, so many thoughts were soon to be forgotten as multi-tasking wasn't really Noah's thing. Sam's senses had also picked up on the smell and where Puck was delighted by it, Sam already felt nauseous.

"Fuck yeah," the oldest teenager exclaimed excitingly, grabbing a slice and starting to munch on it as if his life depended on it.

Normally that wouldn't have bothered Sam, but the sounds that were coming from his friend's mouth while eating were suddenly making him feel sick and when Puck turned around to give him a weird look – tomato sauce on his left cheek – Sam realized that he was staring.

"Dude, seriously, are you sure you're alright?" Puck managed to voice through his chewing, "you've been acting a little odd lately."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked in confusion, slightly scared that Noah might be smarter than he looked like.

"Well, first of all there's the weight loss, then your rumbling stomach at Blaine's and now that I come to think of it, you look a little pale," Puck responded, examining his friend with his hazel eyes.

Sam scowled and shrugged with his shoulders. "So? What are you trying to say?"

Puck didn't know how to respond to that. He tilted his head to the side a little, thinking of what he was, indeed, trying to say. Hell, he had just noticed some stuff and maybe it didn't mean anything, but yeah, he still found that Sam hadn't been quite himself lately. Unfortunately, the mohawked guy couldn't quite put his finger on it, so with an indifferent sounding "never mind" he got back to eating his pizza.

And while Sam felt like he could breathe normally again, Blaine had gotten at his peak of pure misery. Fine, yes, he was lonely and he needed company, so whatever. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and texted his friends, asking them if they'd like to come over. Getting up to dispose the evidence of his dramatic binge eating, he walked downstairs to the kitchen. He dumped the three empty ice buckets with a roll of his eyes, annoyed with himself for being such a…girl…about all of it. Back upstairs again he dressed himself and when he had finally settled for a black bowtie on that Saturday evening, Sam had finished his first slice of pizza.

Puck had already downed his and the whole time that Sam had been nibbling on that one slice he had tried to come up with some clever excuse so that he didn't have to eat the whole thing. He could say that he was suddenly feeling sick, but that probably also meant cancelling on Blaine's invitation while San was looking forward to see him.

"My God, I'm so full I think I might throw up," Puck commented, rubbing his stomach as he was lying on Sam's bedroom floor. The blond shook his head at him before it hit him that Puck had might actually given him a solution.

But throwing up intentionally, could he do that? Could he just go the bathroom and stick his finger down his throat? It didn't sound too hard, if he was perfectly honest, but something was withholding him. Then again, there wasn't anything wrong with him if he did it just this one time, right? As long as it wouldn't become a habit he was fine. Besides, if he did it then he would at least be able to sleep tonight, because he would've successfully reached his target. After making the decision, he picked up his second slice. And some minutes later, longer than he normally would take, he had finished half of his dinner.

"Ugh, I can't anymore," he then said, lying down in the same position as Puck to strengthen his act.

"I know right," Puck responded absentmindedly, his eyes closed lazily.

"Back in a sec," Sam announced, scrambling himself up from the floor before he made his way to the bathroom.

A last moment of hesitation hit the blond as he looked down the toilet, but he overcame that by reminding himself that fear was just a emotion and that one could get over that. For the first time in his life, Sam praised the Lord for having such a big mouth, because he could easily fit two fingers in there. When the tip of his middle finger hit the back of his throat his gag reflex kicked in, making his body cringe. Another three times later his legs started to tremble, so the blond figured that it might be better if he sat down, in case he'd collapse…or miss... Well, that was an awkward thought. Tears started to well up in his eyes as he gagged again, but this time leaving his fingers where they were, tickling his throat. He coughed, but pushed through, trying not to be too loud as his dinner started to move up his gullet.

With a mixed feeling of satisfaction, confusion and guilt, Sam flushed the toilet, erasing the evidence of his little trick. He got up, still feeling a little wobbly and held himself steady by the sink.

"Bro, you alright?" Puck's voice suddenly sounded from the other side of the door.

Sam's emerald eyes grew wider and he scraped his throat – which hadn't been a smart idea, since it was still slightly burning from the gall that had come up with his vomit. "I'm fine, why do you ask?" he tried to sound as blunt as he possibly could, intending to let Puck think that what he had heard wasn't what he thought it was, whatever that was anyway.

"I just…never mind," Puck responded, rubbing his forehead as he turned around to walk back to Sam's bedroom. Was he hearing ghosts now? Maybe he really should stop drinking so much. "Anyway, hurry up! We're going to Blaine's."

The sound of that roaring engine could only be produced by Puck's truck, Blaine knew as he started to make his way to the front door of his house. He had been trying to come up with something for them to do while his friend's were over, but couldn't think of anything. Hoping that it wouldn't be a problem, Blaine allowed Sam and Puck to enter the mansion.

"Samuel, are you okay? You look a little pale," he commented as the blond passed him, who grumbled something inaudible in response.

Puck, who came in after Sam, made a motion with his hand that let Blaine know that he probably shouldn't mention it anymore. The curly haired boy shrugged innocently and followed them into the living room, dropping himself on the sofa while his friends had already taken their spot on the second one.

"Home alone?" Puck asked, mentally laughing at his own rhetorical question.

Blaine shot him a not amused look and decided that it would be better to not answer. "So what do you guys want to do?"

"Shouldn't you be the one with plan, you know, since you invited us over?" Sam asked, an expression on his face as if he was debating if the answer to that question was positive of negative.

"Well, I…"

"…You just wanted some company, didn't you?" Puck remembered his earlier thought at Sam's place. The smirk on his face showed that he was kind of satisfied with himself that he had figured it out, but Blaine wouldn't be himself if he didn't have too much pride to admit that.

"No, not all. I just thought it would be fun to do something, is that so weird?" he shot back.

And Puck wouldn't be Puck if he would leave it at that. "Oh, really?" he sounded quasi surprised, "then what have you been doing all day?"

Blaine opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't think of anything. That was when Sam upped his eyebrows and watched him expectantly. When no words were exchanged, he broke the silence. "Blaine? It's okay to admit that what Puck said was true…I mean, look at the size of this house, man, and it's often just only you."

"I…no…yes…" Blaine stammered, clearly he hadn't been expecting this, "I…err…I…fine. I just missed you guys, okay?" He turned to Puck. "And don't start telling me that I'm sounding gay, because then you would be stating quite the obvious." The boy got up from his seat and walked over to the kitchen. "Anyone up for a drink? I feel like having a beer." And that came from the one who wasn't a huge fan of drinking.

What Blaine didn't know was that his two friends were now exchanging looks, followed by an high-five. Puck chuckled, while Sam's mind was processing the seriousness of the issue. "Do you really think he's lonely?" he whispered to his mohawked friend.

The smirk on Puck's face disappeared. "I don't know…could be. It was just something that had occurred to me, I didn't think I was right. Hell, I'm never right."

Sam nodded silently, pursing his lips as he always did when he was thinking deeply. "Maybe we should cheer him up a little."

Puck grinned. "My way or your way?" He wiggled his eyebrows.

"My way." Sam shot him a weird look. "Definitely my way."

Blaine came back with three beers and right before Puck wanted to refuse, because he had driven here, Sam jumped in.

"We're staying over."

The smile that formed on Blaine's face was the answer to Sam and Puck's speculations.

"So how about a game of Never Ever?" Puck offered after the boys had taken the first chug of their drinks.

"Sure," Sam shrugged, "you guys probably already know everything about me anyway."

"What's that?" Blaine asked, mild confused, not too familiar with many drinking games.

"Oh," Puck sat up a little, "we take turns on saying something we have never done before and if you have done what is said, you drink. It's pretty simple."

"I think I can do that," Blaine grinned.

"Alright, then you start."

"I've never, ever, had sex with a girl," he said triumphantly.

"I think he's got it," Sam responded with a played annoyed look on his face.

Obviously, he and Puck took a chug from their bottle.

"Alright, my turn," Sam said, "I've never, ever, had the most solos in Glee Club."

"Ha-ha," Puck voiced teasingly, pointing his finger to Blaine, who took a sip. "I've never, fucking ever, lost at a videogame."

Sam shot him a weird look. "Yes, you have, this afternoon."

"Dude, shut up."

"I knew you would be your own downfall, Puckerman," Sam chuckled as they all drank.

An hour later, the guys were already pretty wasted. The not-so-big-drinker had been first to go down, followed by Sam – who usually didn't get drunk so quickly, but since his stomach now contained more alcohol than food... And last was Puck, of course. He was just beyond tipsy and the game had turned out to get more interesting with every round. Remember that thing about drunk minds and sober hearts?

"I've never, freaking fucking ever, had a dad," the mohawked man sighed, causing the other two boys to empty their fourth drink.

Normally Blaine would've said that that technically wasn't true, but he was too busy filling up his and Sam's glass with his father's favorite whiskey – they had ran out of beer.

"I've never used two curse words in the same sentence," he giggled, "hey, wha'ya know, I'm kinda good at this game!"

Puck rolled his eyes and Sam smirked, he had come up with one that surely caused Blaine to drink.

"Well, Mr. Anderson," he slurred, "I've never kissed a guy."

"Too easy," Blaine responded, sticking out his tongue before he took a sip.

But to Sam's surprise, the person next to him on the sofa also showed some movement. He turned his head around as he saw Puck taking a sip, who shot him a weird look. "What?" he asked, his hands in the air, "oh, Jesus Christ, don't tell me you're surprised." He scoffed.

In the meantime, Blaine's face was showing all kinds of surprised excitement, as he actually found it pretty awesome.

"I-I just figured that…"

"Oh, come on, man, I'm all kinds of sexual," his friend snorted, shrugging it off, "besides, it's no big deal, just a kiss."

"Yeah, but still…with a guy…" Sam stammered, obviously still kind of shocked.

"Well, at least I'll die knowing that I've done it all," Puck responded, rolling his eyes at Sam's still surprised face. "Dude, stop looking at me as if I just caused a nuclear war to start," he scowled. "Really, it's no big deal. Here, look." He smirked as he stumbled his way over to the other sofa, where Blaine was situated.

It took a moment before the smallest one of the company realized what was about to happen, but when he did, his dark eyes grew wider with the second. "Noah!" he exclaimed, but Puck's hands were already around his waist and Blaine could feel himself getting pulled closer.

Puck broad chest met his shoulder and he watched the guy's eyes closing before he did the same. A pair of rough lips brushed against his and he gasped a little when Noah's mouth opened slightly. His cheeks started to burn when he felt the tip of his friend's tongue against his lips, hesitating a moment before he slowly gave in. Puck's tongue found his and they brushed against each other a couple of times before the mohawked guy slowly released his friend from his tight grip.

When they turned around, Sam's jaw had dropped an inch before he burst into laughter. "Oh my God!" he managed to voice, "You guys are…Puck…oh my God!"

"Whoa?!" the badass exclaimed, "you wanna give it a try?" He made a quick nod with his head towards Blaine.

"Hey! I'm not some kind of attraction in a theme park or some-"

"Shut up."

Meanwhile, Sam had gotten back to his drunk, serious self and was debating the option. "I don't know," he hesitated, "it did look kinda…I don't know…attractive?"

"Then stop being such a girl about it and try it," Puck verbally pushed him, getting off Blaine and sitting back down on his spot.

"I-I don't…" Sam stammered, staring into Blaine's eyes, "would you…" He scraped his throat, grabbing himself together. "Do you want to?"

The youngest shrugged lightly, averting his dark eyes from Sam's piercing gaze. "I guess I wouldn't mind it…at all…"

Now Sam was the one sitting down next to Blaine. The palm his hand found the boy's, still slightly burning, cheek and he licked his lips as he moved closer. The distance between their faces shortened and they closed their eyes at the same moment. Sam swallowed a last time before he kissed his friend. It felt different to do it with a guy, kind of wrong, to be perfectly honest…but also kind of right. Blaine was such a sweet kisser and his slightly smaller body made Sam want to wrap his arms around him and pull him closer. He didn't though, because in the background, Puck was breaking the tension.

"Gays," he coughed.

His friends smiled through their kiss and Sam pointed his middle finger towards him before he moved away from Blaine.

"Now tell me, was that so bad?" Puck smirked.

Sam shook his head and cleared his throat while Blaine allowed the air to leave his lungs. "Oh my God," he sighed, "you guys are insane."

"See? No biggy," the mohawked man shrugged. "Now whose turn is it?"

"Wow! Hold it there, young man," Blaine interrupted, pointing his index fingers towards him. "Now I want to watch two guys kiss."

Puck frowned at him in surprise. "Fine," he grinned. "Whatever gets you off…" he said in a whisper, already scooting closer to Sam. "What do you say, Evans? You up for it?" he smirked teasingly.

"Bring it," Sam shot back, his heart still rapidly beating inside his chest.

And where Sam's first kiss with a guy had been really sweet, this one was definitely more intense. Then again, it was the Sex Shark who was pressing his lips against his. Puck noticed how willing Sam all of a sudden seemed, because he opened his mouth at the same time as he did. A soft moan even escaped the comic freak's mouth, which encouraged Puck to slid a hand through his blond hair, tugging the ends on the back of his head slightly.

"Okay…wow…" Blaine stammered, not being able to keep his eyes off his friends, not even when they'd stopped, "I gotta say…that was really hot to look at."

Sam giggled, slightly embarrassed, as he scratched his upper arm, while Puck just shrugged. "Of course it was," he said.

* * *

**Author's Note: The next chapter will be posted sometime this week! Please don't forget to follow and review! Your feedback is my motivation.**


	5. Horrible Hangovers

_Chapter four_

When the boys – and especially Sam – felt like they had enough, their drinking game ended. Slurred conversation without much meaning continued for approximately half an hour and then the boys decided it was time to get upstairs – Sam had once again been the cause of that, since his eyes were already falling shut. Cleaning would be done in the morning, so the three moved themselves to Blaine's bedroom. Puck had suddenly felt the need to test how drunk his curly haired friend was, so he had grabbed for his ankles a couple of times on the stairs, which had resulted in a squeaking Blaine and loud laughter from the other two.

"I don't think I have another bed, to be honest," Blaine announced once they were in his room, scratching his head as he was wiggling his toes on the carpet. He obviously couldn't think clearly anymore, because his parents definitely had a bedroom, with a bed.

"Here's one!" Sam grumbled before letting himself drop onto Blaine's king sized mattress.

"Space enough for two," Puck mumbled, already in his dark colored boxers as he tried to release the covers from Sam's body weight. Once succeeded, he got under them, yawning loudly while Sam also had managed to pull his shirt over his head and lie back down.

In the meantime, Blaine had watched the debacle with a blunt look on his face. "So where'm I gonna sleep?" he slurred in question.

Sam didn't have to open his eyes in order to know that Puck was trying to exchange a knowing look with him. They both remembered that their friend had most likely been feeling lonely, so they both stretched out an arm invitingly.

"You can have the middle," Sam mumbled.

"Just for one night, though," Puck had added quickly, but the small smirk on his face showed that he was happy to please his friend.

A little sparkle lit up inside of Blaine at his friends' gestures. Restraining himself from squealing in delight, he turned off the lights and crawled onto the end of the bed, clawing himself upwards to the pillow where he laid his head down. He awkwardly shifted a couple of times, but then accepted that there would be some shoulder-touching. However, Puck suddenly turned on his side and laid an arm on the sheets, draped around Blaine's waist and in that moment the boy knew that he shouldn't be nervous about his friends being uncomfortable in the same bed.

Especially not when Sam scooted a little closer behind him. It was silly anyway, though, the blond and the oldest guy had always been cool about him being gay, but sometimes Blaine still couldn't help with feeling a little awkward. Then again, he really, really shouldn't worry, because something more than physical contact had already been shared that night. A shiver went down his spine when his drunken mind remembered the kisses they had shared.

"Good night," Sam whispered sleepily, before licking his plump lips.

"Sweet dreams," Blaine replied, a silent smile on his face.

"Whatever," Puck grumbled.

A rough fifteen minutes later, Sam was sound asleep. Blaine could hear his soft, peaceful snoring, which made him giggle a little out of cuteness. On his other side, Puck was turning again and right before Blaine took off to dreamland, his voice pierced through the silence.

"Hobbit?"

The smallest one let out an annoyed sigh at the use of the nickname. "Yes, Noah?"

"You asleep?" The question sounded.

Blaine crooked up an unseen eyebrow. "You're kidding, right?"

"Shut up, you know what I mean," Puck grumbled, moving a little closer to his friend. "Can we talk? Like, privately?"

"Well…" the curly haired boy snorted. "…That's kind of impossible at the moment," he referred to their friend behind him.

"Shut up and stop being so witty."

"You use that phrase a lot, don't you?"

"Oh, ha-ha," Puck scowled, "just because I use one smart sounding word in a sentence you feel the need to go all sarcastic on me?"

Blaine frowned and shook his head ever so slightly. "I was talking about the shutting up thing," he explained, giving a tug at the man's mohawk. "Anyway, what's up?"

Puck moved his head a little more closely, making Blaine able to feel his warm breath on his forehead when he spoke. "I think I heard Sam throwing up today."

His friend gave him a not understanding look, which he then figured Puck couldn't see in the darkness of his room. "What do you mean?"

Now it was Puck's turn to give him the same facial expression. "I mean like puking. Vomiting. Gagging. Heaving. Spew-"

"Yeah, okay, I think I got it," Blaine interrupted him. "But why do you want to talk about that?"

Puck shrugged lightly, Blaine's coolness about the situation made him question again if he was making something big out of nothing. He hesitated for a moment before deciding to speak up. At least he was sure that Blaine wouldn't make a fool out of him if his worrying had no meaning. That was what Puck admired in the boy; he would always be patient with him and never laugh when he was being serious. Even if his seriousness resulted in something stupid, Blaine would always understand where he was coming from and support him.

"I don't know. It's just…" the hazel-eyed guy was clearly looking for words, not used to talking about these sorts of things, "he's been acting so…weird, lately."

"Elaborate…" Blaine said when a short silence fell between them.

"Well, you know, I haven't seen him eat a lot since I'm back. Then again, I'm not that often around him as, for example, you are," Puck whispered, "and I swear that he has lost weight. I'm sure of it. And then today we ordered pizza and at first he said he wasn't hungry, which is weird, because he always wants pizza."

Blaine nodded, giving Puck the space to continue.

"He ate, like, half of it, and very slowly. And after he went to the toilet and I thought I heard him…"

"…Throwing up," Blaine finished his sentence. The boy allowed himself a moment to let his friend's words sink in, wondering what the meaning of all his observations could have been. If there was any meaning at all, because it could've just been coincidence.

He tried to remember his last couple of weeks with Sam. Sure, he had noticed that the guy hadn't been eating during lunch, but was that something to get concerned about? Blaine felt like he needed some more facts. However, his mind was failing him and where some of that had been the result of his alcohol consummation that same evening, some of it had been lack of attention. He had been so caught up with the breakup of his relationship and with making sure not to be alone, that he had simply forgotten to keep an eye on one of his closest friends. On the other hand, Sam seemed to be doing fine and to him Sam still looked…ripped, instead of scarily skinny.

"Blaine?" Puck suddenly pulled him out his thoughts.

Oops, he had been silent for too long. "Sorry, I was thinking about it," he apologized, "and I get your point, Noah, but to be perfectly honest with you, I haven't noticed many of the changes you voiced. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that you're making more out of things, but if you'd ask me I'd say that Sam's doing fine."

Puck clenched his jaw and nodded. "Never mind. Then it's probably me." He made an attempt into turning his back on Blaine and trying to go to sleep, but the other boy held him by the arm that was still around his waist.

"Listen, I promise I'll keep an eye on him. We'll just see how things go and talk about it again, alright?" he offered, before he squeezed Puck's arm for a moment.

The mohawked man let out a deep breath. "Alright."

Blaine smiled gently and loosened his grip. "Okay. Anything else?"

"Nope," Puck shrugged, "thanks, Blaine."

"Anytime. You know that."

Puck hummed in confirmation and started brushing his thumb against the sheets, pretending that he was doing it across his friend's stomach. Blaine's smile turned a little brighter for a second before he felt Sam behind him turn to his other side, nervously biting his bottom lip as his eyes were open.

The sounds that were coming out of the Anderson's kingdom the following morning could mostly be described as the groans of hung over teenagers. However, Puck – who was used to the morning regrets – had gone downstairs to make some coffee and had even found some aspirin. After taking two of them himself and chugging it with water, he made his way upstairs again, where his friends were lying knocked out on Blaine's bed. The owner of that bed was massaging the temples of his head with two fingers on each side, while the blond was desperately trying to get the salivary glands up and running again, since his guppy mouth felt like a desert and smelled like a rat had died in it.

"You guys look so cute when you're fucked," Puck said teasingly as he entered the musty bedroom.

Sam grumbled something inaudible in response while Blaine considered shaking his head for a moment, but then decided that it would probably be better if he didn't. So when no real response came out of the two of them, Puck chuckled as he sat down on the bed.

"Here, the holy fluid that will wake you guys up," he announced as he each handed them a mug with steaming hot coffee. "And a little miracle," he showed them the white pills.

"How many cabinets did you have to go through to find those?" Blaine mumbled, putting one of them inside his mouth.

Puck shrugged it off. "Let's just say that I know everything about all your parents' illnesses now." He snorted, "or is it you who suffers from diarrhea every now and then?

The curly haired boy rolled his eyes. "You're disturbing."

Then a familiar rumble sounded through the room and two pairs of eyes slowly moved over to Sam's upper body.

"Whoa? I'm hungry," he muttered in defense, "anyone else want food?"

Puck and Blaine exchanged a quick look before one of them answered. "I don't. My stomach probably wouldn't be able to muster it."

"Do you have eggs?" Puck asked after the thoughtful expression on his face had disappeared.

"What? You didn't come across those when you were searching my house for drugs?" Blaine responded sarcastically.

"Man, you're a fucking bitch when you're hung over," Puck snorted, "and I gotta say, it's not pretty."

That comment managed to reveal a tiny smile appearing around the boy's lips. Afterwards the room fell silent as they sipped from their coffees, each occupied by their own thoughts, thoughts that ironically turned out to be the same. Blaine's got dragged back to the conversation he had had with Puck that night, secretly wishing that Sam was, indeed, doing okay. The curly haired boy would have a hard time forgiving himself if the opposite turned out to be true, given that it would mean that he had been too selfish. Sam had been there and supported him during all those times of his heartache and he would feel guilty if that would have made him gone ignorant on his well-being. What Blaine didn't know was that the friend he was thinking about, was also trying to repeat the conversation he had overheard about him. He knew he had been a fool, taking Puck as stupid as for his appearance, since he knew perfectly well that the guy was much smarter than he looked. Still, his act of desperation was supposed to be a one-time thing, but as things were looking now – with his friends almost finding out about his unhealthy eating habits – he figured that he had no choice but to overstep his boundaries once again. And the thought that he had to make sure that his friends would stop paying attention to him, made Sam realize that he was aware that he was doing something unhealthy. However, it wasn't enough for the blond to stop. The amount of calories he would consume per day were the only thing that he could control in his life and he was sure that he would go completely insane if he would let go of his last grip. It felt like he was dangling on the edge of a cliff and the only thing he could hold onto was his eating behavior. So Sam decided that he would do a major binge eat that day to let Blaine continue to think that there was nothing wrong with him and to show Puck that his concerns were meaningless. The latter was most likely to be the tougher one, because Noah's stubborn mind had already convinced himself that his speculations were true. Despite the fact that Blaine hadn't confirmed his concerns, he was already questioning himself how it had turned out that Sam had suddenly become so obsessive with his eating habits. It didn't sound at all like his friend, even though he was always making sure that his body was in good shape, which had always been the case as far as Puck was concerned. Even he had sneakily eyed the perfect abs when they would be exposed while changing in the locker rooms. Still, that had been at least four and a half months ago, but even with his shirt on, Puck could still tell that nothing had changed.

"Seriously though, are we gonna eat or what?" Sam suddenly broke through the quiet atmosphere. "I'm literally starving over here."

"Yes. I have decided," Puck answered wisely, "scrambled it is."

Both boys left the bedroom to go to the kitchen, leaving Blaine wondering if that really had been the thing that Noah had been trying to decide for the minutes that they'd been silent. His friends' footsteps in the upstairs hallway died as they had gone downstairs, instantly confronting Blaine with the well-known coldness that always seemed to be coating the walls. The roaming of his loneliness he felt, even with the knowledge that his best friends were somewhere in the house. Blaine's thoughts trailed off again and that was when he realized that he had been close to spilling his misery the night before. Noah had almost figured him out and Blaine actually felt a little relieved that he hadn't, because it would have embarrassed him to the fullest. The fact that he had to confess that he had been missing them didn't bother him so much, since it didn't sound as sad and pathetic as spilling that his feelings were much worse than that. It would make him sound like a helpless, dramatic little "hobbit" who got insanely depressed over his breakup and just couldn't get over it. Not that that description wasn't accurate, but in comparison to Noah who had been searching for his father and to Sam – if he wasn't doing okay – it was nothing. How could he possibly start bothering his friends even more than he was already doing without making it seem immature? No, Blaine was old enough to take care of himself. Besides, his broken heart should be close to healing now, right? It had been so long since it got scattered. Yes, he probably just had to push through a little bit more and then he would only be going upwards.

Little did the youngest boy know, that he hadn't hit rock bottom yet. And that moment was slowly getting closer and closer.

"Fuck, I love fatty food when I'm hung over."

Sam and Puck had finished preparing their breakfast and were now coming in with their plates, scrambled eggs, toast and lots of mayonnaise. Blaine could feel his stomach churning when the smell infiltrated his nose and he wrapped his hand over his mouth.

"Guys, over there. On the floor. Seriously." The muffled instructions sounded as he pointed to the other side of the bedroom.

Sam smiled comfortably at him, making sure to empty his plate rapidly. It was the perfect cover up, making it seem like he was taking Blaine's upset stomach into consideration while he actually wanted to get it over with as fast as he could. All that while Puck was doing the complete opposite, grinning at Blaine with his mouth full, obviously enjoying the boy's first ever real experience with hangovers. This resulted in Blaine sticking out his tongue towards him, who still hadn't moved an inch from his place on the bed.

"So what do you guys want to do the rest of the day?" he asked when his friends had finished their breakfast.

Puck shrugged indifferently, it wasn't as if he had any plans whatsoever anyway.

"I've to get home and study," Sam sighed.

"Oh, crap, I've to drop you off because we took my truck," Puck then remembered.

Blaine nodded silently, restraining himself from showing his disappointment. His friends had to leave at some point anyway, since they had lives of their own.

"I'll come back when I've dropped Sam off," his mohawked friend suddenly continued, earning him an approving and proud look from the blond and an ever so slightly relieved one from Blaine.

An hour later Sam was ready to leave. He gave Blaine a warm hug and thanked him for the night, mentioning their kiss jokingly. His friend chuckled softly as his cheek was pressed against the blond's chest for a moment. He noticed the warmth that was radiating from it and Sam realized how nice it felt to have the smaller one so close to him.

"Alright, see you tomorrow at school, Blainers," he greeted him, stepping out of the front door.

"See you in a bit," Puck said, ruffling his friend's hair for a second as he passed him.

The ride home had been silent for Sam as his mind was already at the bathroom. His stomach felt like it was going to explode and it had been causing waves of disgust washing over him every somewhat minutes. In the back of his mind there was already a light sense of guilt, but the urge and thought of staying in control of his life was too strong. Especially when he started to remember all the things he still had to do for school. Stress had definitely become a major part of his life, with his parents in debt as he was trying to focus on graduating while his siblings were running around the house like crazy. The accumulation of all of those things was now taking his toll and Sam had gotten into a vicious circle, because not eating enough also brought other things that the teenager wasn't aware of. Yet.

"Thanks, Puck. Catch ya later!" Sam said as he attempted to leave the car.

"Wait," Puck stopped him, making Sam instantly nervous, because he thought to know what his friend was about to say. "I really do think Blaine is lonely."

A relieved sigh erupted from his best friend's mouth, glad that it wasn't anything about him. "I know," Sam nodded, "but you don't think it's still because of the breakup, right? I mean, it's been quite a while."

Puck shrugged unknowingly. "I'm not that good with causes. Just make sure to spend some more time with him at school."

Another confirming nod showed, even though Sam felt like he was already spending most of his time with Blaine.

"Alright, thanks," Puck said and Sam turned around to get out of his truck.

"Oh, and Sam?" The blond turned back again. Puck examined him for a moment from head to toe, but then seemed to change his mind. "Take care."

Puck drove back to where he came from, trying to focus on Sunday's traffic. After he had parked his truck on the driveway, Blaine opened the door for him, once again alerted by the familiar, roaring engine.

"So apparently I was wrong," Puck spoke when he had entered the house.

It took Blaine a moment before he realized what his friend was talking about, blinking bluntly.

Puck noticed this and with his hands in the air he reminded Blaine. "About Sam?"

"Oh, yeah, of course!" his friend responded, restraining himself from smacking himself across the forehead. "I guess so...I'm sorry, Noah, but it didn't seem like something's wrong with him. I promise to keep an eye on him anyway, but...don't expect too much from it, okay?"

The mohawked man nodded while he sighed. "Thanks, Blaine, at least you took me seriously."

The boy smiled gently at him. "Of course."

"Now let's talk about you."

Blaine snorted nervously. "About me?" he repeated. "Why do you want to talk about me?"

"Because I think that you're hiding something," Noah answered, trying to catch his friend's gaze, who smartly avoided that.

"Noah, what could I possibly be hiding? You know I'm an open book with feelings, even Samuel once said so." He pointed his finger at himself. "Easy to read."

The Puckerman narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Maybe that's true," he responded thoughtfully, "maybe 'hiding' isn't the right word...more like...guarding. As if you're keeping yourself from letting everything shine through."

Blaine upped both of his eyebrows at his friend, surprised that he had actually figured him out. But the teenager wasn't going to prove Noah right since he still wasn't up for all the embarrassment if the conversation would turn out into some heart to heart where Blaine would spill everything. He felt too proud for that. Besides, he didn't want to bother Puck.

"Well, I appreciate the wise words, Noah," he therefore started, "but I'm afraid that I must tell you wrong." He mustered a sincere looking smile onto his face. "I'm doing fine. Yes, I like hanging out with you guys and therefore miss you every once in a while, but that's all. No biggy."

Puck held his friend's gaze for a moment, trying to figure out how he should respond to that. Unfortunately, he was out of great comebacks, so he let it go, letting himself fall back onto the sofa. "Alright, cool, if you say so." He shrugged it off.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you guys for all the lovely reviews, it's nice to know that people are actually liking this story and - with that - are appreciating the hours I put into it. Keep 'm coming!**


	6. Guarding

_Chapter five_

Sam wiped away the little tears that had formed in the corners of his emerald eyes. After sipping some water into his mouth from the sink he rinsed and spat, trying to get rid of the taste of vomit that was still lingering. He flashed his teeth, checking if they still looked presentable. A deep breath later he made his way back to the classroom he was supposed to be in.

"Everything okay, Sam?" Mr. Schuester asked when he stepped through the door.

"Yeah, fine, thank you," he answered, showing a sincere smile. The blond would've panicked at the question if he hadn't told him that he had to take an 'important' phone call.

The teenager wasn't exactly a fan of lying, especially not to his Glee Club teacher, but he couldn't go to the bathroom and throw his guts out during break. The hallways were too busy at that time, and so he couldn't make sure that no one would hear him. On top of that they usually weren't allowed to go the bathroom during class, so that explained Sam's somewhat unusual excuse. He sat back down next to Blaine, who he hadn't let out of a five foot radius ever since he promised Puck to make sure to spend as much time with him as possible. It had been proven a not too hard job, because the boy would stick to him like glue.

Sam obviously didn't know that his friend in question had his own agenda for that. Blaine had been keeping a close eye on him himself and started noticing the amount of 'important phone calls' Sam had been getting over the past two weeks. However, Christmas break was around the corner, so he would most likely be forced to stop his observation for a while. The timing was impeccable, because Blaine could use the distraction over those days off. Days that he doubted he would spend with his family, even though that was the spirit of the Holiday.

"What was that about?" he asked his friend in a whisper, while Mr. Schue was introducing their new Musical Project for the school year.

"Nothing interesting," Sam answered, "just my mom telling me that I've to pick up my brother and sister from school."

Blaine mouthed an understanding "oh" while he nodded, his eyes trailing off to the teacher in front of him. It had occurred to him that his friend was - as Puck had said - acting a little odd, but how could Blaine reason with his excuse? It could've been true for all he knew. Besides, Sam had accepted the sandwich Blaine had offered him during lunch, so the curly haired boy knew for a hundred percent sure that his friend was eating. Clearly, he was still struggling with the pieces presented to him, trying to fit them together as well as he could.

"How are your grades doing, by the way?" he suddenly asked, earning a muffled moan from Sam.

"I don't even wanna know, to be honest, but I'm doing everything I can to improve them." The answer sounded a little helpless.

"Well, I could always help you out more often by tutoring," Blaine offered, secretly praying for a solution for the upcoming winter break. "I mean, it's working for you, right? Your last grade for English was pretty okay."

Sam shrugged a little. "Yeah...I guess..."

"Dude, what's wrong? You know I don't mind helping you out," Blaine pushed.

"Yeah, why don't you?"Sam suddenly fired back, meeting his friend's gaze. He had seen an opening into Blaine maybe spilling about the loneliness him and Puck had established he was going through.

Blaine, taken off guard, stared at him for a moment as he thought of something to say. "Because you're my best friend," he then answered cleverly, "I don't mind helping you out...doesn't matter with what." It was now his turn to glare knowingly at Sam, who quickly avoided his penetrating look. "Anyway…we'll have a look at it tonight."

The blond sucked in his bottom lip for a moment as he nodded while chewing nervously on it before he averted his attention back to Will in the front of the room, secretly wondering if Blaine knew more than he should know.

That night Puck was to be found in his room again, spending some quality time with his best friend. He was peeling off the black label in boredom, taking a chug every once in a while. The first times he had drunk the whiskey his face would scrunch up in disgust, his throat burning from the strong alcohol that was sliding down it. Now it didn´t bother him anymore and he even noticed that he was able to handle more and more of it over the years. Still, emptying one bottle of Jack Daniels was enough to numb his mind or, as he would explain it, turn him shitfaced, hammered and wasted all at once.

A few more chugs and he would be there. Tomorrow he would wake up with a slight headache, a dry mouth and black spots in his memory. Gaps that he had found he didn´t want to fill since they always included beating some guy up or embarrassing himself while trying to get into a girls' pants; otherwise known as an aggressive or sexual rage. An outburst that would boil up inside of him and explode within seconds without him even realizing it. They usually passed in a blur which Puck wouldn't remember the day after. But sometimes images would come back to him, making his heart skip a beat at the wrong he might have done. Most of the time he would close his eyes and shake his head, quickly thinking of something daily and usual to get rid of them .Maybe it wasn't right to avoid the truth that way, but to Puck it sounded way better than dealing with it.

He ripped off the label, fumbling with it in his hands until it turned into a ball. Taking his last big gulp, he threw it into no particular direction in his bedroom. He moved the bottle from his lips and looked at it. A smirk formed onto his face before he threw the glass bottle to the end of his bed, standing up before he started stumbling down the stairs.

"Alright, so English is getting better, but you're still failing Spanish and Math."

"I guess…" Sam grumbled in the annoyance of having it all summed up for him.

"It's fine, we'll work on them, then," Blaine responded in an optimistic way.

"Or we could accept that I'm loser?" Sam offered sarcastically, not looking forward to all the work he must be doing in the near future.

Blaine sighed after he took a sip from his tea. "You're not a loser, Samuel. You're just not good at those courses. And your dyslexia isn't really helping either," he said in an attempt to cheer his friend up, even though it didn't sound like one.

"Thanks, Blaine, that definitely helps," Sam continued in his sarcasm as he put his mug back down on the dining table.

The smaller one pursed his lips into a thin line as Sam's rumbling stomach sounded through the room.

"Are you hungry?" Blaine asked, his eyebrows upped.

"Nah, it's just making noises. Ignore it," Sam casually shrugged it off, mentally cursing himself.

"Alright, if you say so," his friend replied before going back to the homework in front of them, "let's go back to Spanish. Try to do some assignments with the new grammar we learned today and we'll go through them together when you've finished."

Sam nodded affirmatively and picked up his pen as he started reading through the books.

"In the meantime, I'll make us some more tea," Blaine said as he got up, walking towards the kitchen. The sigh he let out when he was there was one of empathy, feeling bad for his friend who was having such a hard time with his school work. However, Blaine was doing everything he could and – looking at Sam's grades for English – he knew it was helping. That thought brought him some satisfaction, which made him able to let go of his pity, clearing his mind to think about other things. About Glee Club doing Grease, for example, a musical that had always been in Blaine's "Top 10 Best Musicals of all Time". But despite that, he was hesitative about auditioning for the lead role. How he could play the lead in Grease, a romance musical, when he had ruined his?

"Are you doing okay?" he asked when he got back to the dining room, sitting down in on his chair next to Sam.

"I think so…" his friend sighed, "but we'll find out when you check it."

Blaine smiled gently. "And if it turns out that you don't, we'll work on it until you…" His response died as he looked up, focusing on the familiar sound that was reaching his ears. A door slammed and a second later the doorbell rang multiple times. Sam looked at him with a blunt look.

"Are you expecting anyone?" he asked, a surprised tone in the back of his voice.

"No…" Blaine shook his head as he got up, "but I still know who it is."

He walked towards the hallway as the ringing turned to loud bouncing on the front door, rolling his eyes before he opened it.

"My goodness, Noah, can you tone it down a bit?" he said in annoyance, his eyes meeting the hazel of his friend's. Which were looking kind of…odd…?

"Oh, shut up, Hobbit, don't be such a sissy," Puck grumbled in response before he made his way inside Blaine's house, bumping in to the boy ever so slightly as he did so.

"Puck?" Sam sounded surprise when he recognized his friends' voice.

"Jesus fuck, are you gonna complain too? I just wanted to get in," the mohawked man muttered while he entered the living room, followed by the other two in the house. "Got anything to drink? I'm thirsty as hell."

When no response came, he walked over to Blaine's dad's liquor cabinet, eagerly searching through the bottles. The curly haired boy shook his head for a moment, clearing his head from the surprise that one of his best friends had suddenly showed up…drunk.

"Noah, no offense, but…why are you are here?" he asked.

"Whoa?! A guy can't visit his friends anymore?" Puck answered through the rankling noises of bottles getting pushed into each other.

"Well it kinda takes you off guard when they do while they're loaded," Sam jumped in, a little annoyed with how rude his friend was acting.

Puck turned around, a smirk spreading on his face with a bottle of expensive Bourbon in his one hand. "Oh, shut up, Evans. Don't act like you're a saint. I just had a splash..."

"…Of Jack Daniels?" Blaine finished his sentence. "Yeah, you're kind of the worst when you drink that stuff."

The oldest teenager shrugged indifferently, obviously not caring about his friends' opinions.

"Wait…did you drive here…?" Sam suddenly remembered out loud before his eyes widened as he shook his head judgmentally at Puck.

Blaine also shocked at that realization and he walked up to his friend. "Noah…"

"What? I got here safely, didn't I?" Puck defended himself as he fumbled with the lid on the bottle, "Fuck off, you guys. I didn't come for a lecture about responsibility. I'm fine."

"Then what did you come for?" Blaine asked, looking up into Noah's eyes.

He could see that Puck was clenching his jaw and Sam noticed how his grip tightened around the neck of the bottle. He glared back at Blaine coldly, a muscle in the corner of his mouth nervously twitching.

"Screw you, dude, I just came for some fu-"

"What happened, Noah?" Blaine pushed, "what did you do?"

Sam, who had joined Blaine by his side, showed an expectant look at Puck.

The mohawked man swallowed, debated, but then took a sip from the whiskey in his hand. "Nothing. Now fuck off."

"You're in my house, so that would be a little weird, don't you think?" Blaine responded, making sure that he remained calm, even though he knew that his dad would probably get mad when he would notice that someone but him had been touching his finest liquor.

"You know, you look kinda hot when you interrogate me," Puck suddenly complimented, catching Blaine off guard.

"What?" It was the only response he could think of.

"You too, Sammy," Puck continued, "but then again, you always turn me on with that body of yours."

The blond gave him a weird look. "Dude…you seriously should stop drinking now."

Puck killed the last bit of distance that had been between his friends, his face inches from their ears. "Why? Am I making you guys think of something that would be…inappropriate?"

Blaine swallowed awkwardly, he could feel Noah's breath against his shell and – even though it smelled like alcohol – he couldn't help but finding himself a little…warmer.

"Come on, try me. I know you want to," Puck hissed.

Sam licked his dry lips before he laid a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Why are you here, Puck?" he repeated Blaine's words, "what happened?" It was obvious that the oldest one wasn't telling them something. Puck had always been 'action-reaction', so he knew that there was something he wasn't telling him and Blaine.

"Whatever," Puck then groaned, refusing to explain his behavior. "You guys are no fun. Fuck this shit, I'm out," he said as he pushed through them and walked back to the door he came in from.

"Noah!" Blaine called him after he had turned around. He jogged after him since Puck's quickened pace had already moved him to the front yard. "Noah, you are not taking your truck!"

"Fuck. You. Hobbit!" Puck shouted back as he walked off the property.

"Should we go after him?" Sam asked when he had caught up with Blaine.

"No," he responded firmly, "it's not like he will listen anyway. He's way too drunk. Let's just stay here, I mean, he has to come back for his truck anyway."

Sam dug his teeth into his bottom lip, nodding softly.

* * *

**Author's Note: ****I know that this chapter was a little shorter than you guys might be used to from me, but I still hope that you've enjoyed reading it anyway. The next one will be up somewhere before Friday! Keep the reviews coming, they're like drugs to me.**


	7. First Blood

**I'm sorry that I haven't updated this story for so long. I've been having a writer's block since January and didn't have any motivation nor inspiration to actually continue it. I'm back now, though, and the seventh chapter is already in the making. I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize to my lovely readers and to thank my boyfriend, Alex, who has been passionately beta reading this story for me. Without him, this story would've been a lot less from that it is now and I'm really grateful for his support.**

**Now, I hope you guys are still with me and are still willing to put down a review. I promise I won't let you down anymore. Other then that, please, make sure that you just**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Chapter six_

Birds woke Noah Puckerman at 6 a.m. that following morning, which was weird, because he had never woken up to the whistles of the little creatures before. He was fairly sure that his bedroom window wasn't close to a tree, so he opened his eyes confusedly. The vague rays of sunlight that appeared through the clouds made him close them quickly again, though, before he realized that he _knew _his house at least had a roof. When he sat up, he felt his damp and cold clothes sticking to his body and he had to let go of a certain bottle in his hand in order to rub his forehead. "Oh, fuck…" the mohawked man muttered when he noticed the grass around him. Yup, he definitely wasn't home. He looked around, his brain still not fully active. He looked up at the mansion behind him, instantly recognizing it. Groaning, he allowed himself to let himself fall back into the dirt, sighing deeply. "Really, Hobbit? Your backyard?" he asked no one, a miserable undertone in his voice.

"Morning," A familiar voice suddenly sounded out of nowhere.

Puck frowned, once again confused, because the voice he heard wasn't the one he was expecting.

"Fuck my life," he grumbled, laying his eyes on Sam's deeply frowning face. He had pursed his lips inwards, obviously sucking on his bottom lip as the retard always did and had his head cocked to the side a little in a questioning matter.

"Are you finally ready to come inside?" the blond asked, picking up the almost empty bottle next to Puck's drained body, "or are you going to be stubborn again?"

"What the fuck are you talking about, Evans?" Puck replied, offended.

Sam nodded as he stopped sucking, making his lip pop out from under his upper one. "So it's true what they say," he concluded out loud, "people really can get blank spots in their memory because of drinking too much."

"Stop saying what you're thinking and just help me the fuck up, would ya?" Puck bickered, trying to get his body moving from the cold ground.

The blond's eyebrows knitted together before he turned around with a wave of his hand. "You wouldn't let me help you last night, so I'm sure not going to now."

"Asshole," Puck mumbled almost inaudibly, scrambling himself up on his feet, only to stumble towards Blaine's backdoor for his legs had gone numb from the cold and the alcohol.

At the dining table, there was Blaine, and Puck had to admit that his glaring was kind of intimidating. However, the guy didn't know that he couldn't remember half of the previous night, so he sat down opposite from the dark haired teen, casually throwing his arm around the chair. Sam sat down next to Blaine and that's when Puck noticed that he was wearing a bathrobe that probably belonged to Mr. Anderson. He had to suppress a chuckle that wanted to leave his throat, since the silence in the room was far from comfortable.

"So you're not going to say anything?" Blaine finally broke the tension, "no apology, no explanation, nothing?"

Puck shrugged lightly, a cheeky smirk painted on his face. "I don't know what for. My head is kinda blank," he answered truthfully, though the nonchalance in his words caused Blaine to take offense.

"Gee, I wonder why," he started off his rant, throwing his hands up in the air, "maybe it's because you were drunk off your ass and then decided to add some of my dad's finest and most expensive whiskey to it. Which, by the way, I'm going to get in trouble for." He indicated to the bottle, which had been put down next to him by Sam, with his index finger.

That's when parts of the previous night came back to the Puckerman. His facial expression slowly changed into something that represented shock and his two friends could notice by his body language that he had been serious when he said he had not been able to remember anything.

"I…I, err…" Puck stammered as he tried to process everything that had happened: connecting the dots; realizing that he was going to get questioned as to why he had been so wasted; how he was going to get out of the situation…all while he was seriously hung over.

"You _what_?" Blaine sneered, "And don't even think about saying nothing's going on."

"But it's…"

"No 'but's', Noah!" the youngest one now shouted, "Tell us why you were so wasted!"

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair, laying his hand on Blaine's shoulder as to calm him down. He hated seeing people fight, especially his two best friends. Even though he knew Puck had some explaining to do (the blond was curious about it as well) he didn't think that Blaine's screaming would bring anything good to the situation.

"I had a drink at home," Puck then confessed with a sigh.

"No shit," Blaine mumbled before his shoulder got squeezed by his friend next to him, shutting him up.

The mohawked guy ignored his comment, continuing his story. "I wasn't drinking for any reason," he half-lied, "then I got here, because I wanted to have some fun." He sure wasn't going to tell them the truth, though his lying wasn't really very solid either. "Then I got pissed off and walked off," he sighed, averting his gaze to the wooden table in front of him, "I thought I went home, but apparently I didn't." He tried joking, but there was no response from the two people opposite him. "I don't remember anything after that."

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Blaine proved to be quicker. "Well, let me paint the picture for you…" he continued, still angry. "While we were up worrying about you, you came back for your truck after midnight. We went outside to tell you that you weren't able to drive, but you tried anyway. We literally had to pull you out of the car and you got pissed at us, yet again. Sam tried to talk some sense into you and I tried to get you inside, but you weren't up for any reasoning at all. Then you ran off into my garden, or what I think you thought was the park. You didn't come inside, so at three A.M. we gave up and left you. I checked on you an hour later, but you were passed out on the lawn."

Puck swallowed, not knowing what to say for a moment. He knew trying to defend himself would be pointless, since none of the things Blaine said sounded even remotely familiar. So he just sighed, staring at his fingers as they were nervously fumbling with one another.

"Did something happen last night, Puck?" Sam suddenly asked. The blond had known his friend long enough by now that Noah Puckerman would sometimes hide under false explanations, but he would only do it when something was bothering him and would corrode his pride. "You can tell us, you know," he quickly added before Puck could deny anything.

Puck looked up at him with a shocked facial expression. He didn't understand how Sam could've known something was going on with him. And, to his surprise, Blaine apparently knew too.

"I promise we won't treat you with pity or anything," the curly haired one reassured him.

The mohawked man now just stared at his friends, not really knowing that to say. He could feel that he was on the verge of breaking and telling them about his dad, but something inside him was still withholding.

"Don't you guys have school on Friday?" he therefore asked, trying to hurry the conversation on to another subject.

"Yes, we have, but we figured that you're more im-" Sam already started answering bluntly.

"Noah!" Blaine interrupted, seeing through to what his friend was trying to do, "just tell us. You know we won't ever judge you. Come on, man, you can trust us."

"I've been looking for my dad." Puck frowned at himself when he heard his own words. He had spilled his secret. There was no turning back from it now. He looked up across the table at his friends, who were giving him confused looks. So, the badass took a deep breath and started his story. "I've been wondering about my dad for a couple of years now. I don't remember anything about him and my mom just won't answer my questions. She says that it's better if I don't know, but I can't let it go. I was so determined to graduate McKinley because I had found out that the divorce papers my mom got sent were sent from an office in Los Angeles. Last summer I went there as fast as I could, as you know, but I didn't find any other leads. It was a dead end, so that's why I came back." He clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth at the frustration that he was sounding so pathetic, sad and helpless. "I was ashamed, so I didn't want anyone to know, but I just couldn't let it go." He looked up again, elbows resting on the table as his hands folded. "My mom and I fight a lot about it and I just feel…" He closed his eyes for a breath moment. "…like a failure. Again."

Silence fell around the Anderson household, because neither Sam nor Blaine had expected this story. They stared at their friend in disbelief while their minds were processing every detail. However, Puck's story had been so unexpected, that they forgot that they still didn't have a reason for why Puck had been so drunk the night before. It could've been considered a great escape, but it had been pure innocence. And even though the Puckerman felt like shit in that moment, he could've been proud, since he had been the first of the three friends that had been honest.

"Wow, Noah, I didn't kno-"

"You promised me no pity," Puck interrupted Blaine, reminding him. He really didn't need the sympathy at the moment, especially not when his head was throbbing.

"You're not a failure," Sam then jumped in, "actually; you've been pretty badass for looking for him. It takes balls to do that." He nodded at his own words, the corners of his mouth in a 'not bad'-expression. "Still, you could've told us," he added, upping his eyebrows at Puck as he pursed his lips inside, "we're your best friends."

Puck shrugged when he forfeited, nodding his head in agreement. "I know," he replied, not having the energy to go against it, because on the other hand, who was Sam to say that to him? Hell, who was Blaine? The Puckerman had been convinced that both of his friends were still not being honest about their personal lives either, so why did they get to say that to him? It wasn't fair, Puck knew, but as said, he couldn't be bothered to get into another fight.

"I propose that we let the subject be for a while," Blaine suddenly broke the silence and offered. "Noah, you can let this conversation sink in and make a decision. You know that Samuel and I will do anything to help you, no matter what decision you make." The Anderson smiled gently. "Just be honest about it."

Puck now had to literally bite his tongue, but he still mustered a sincere 'will do', before he got up from the chair. "I'm fucking freezing, would you mind if I took a shower?" he asked.

Obviously, Blaine's anger had subsided, so he shook his head.


	8. Unexpected Honesty

_Chapter seven_

Even during Winter Break, Mr. Schuester had been practicing for their upcoming musical, which would happen in the third week of January. It was during those two weeks that Puck had realized how relieved he had actually felt about telling his two best friends the truth about the search for his father. But as said male had been on the upside of things, that's how much Blaine was on the downside. The two weeks had fallen hard on him, since he had been alone most of the time. Except for Christmas, since his Sam and Puck had been able to genuinely surprise him.

"So, I'll take it that you'll be spending the holidays with your family, yeah?" Puck had asked Sam when they had come together for, yet again, an Xbox tournament.

"Yup," Sam had answered with a smile, "As usual. Stevie and Stacey are already worked up about it. I think it's because of the presents." He didn't want to tell Puck about how bad he felt for his siblings, since he knew that his parents hadn't been able to buy as many for them as they used to. He had been wondering if the twins would notice and told his folks not to get him any wrapped gestures this year; he enjoyed the excited squealing too much for that. "Do you have any plans?"

Puck hesitated for a moment before he answered the question. Truth was that he still hadn't told either of his friends about what had really happened the night he showed up drunkenly at Blaine's doorstep. After downing some of his favourite guy in the world, he had gone downstairs to confront his mom about his father. That time, Puck had figured that he wouldn't leave before he had some answers. It went horribly, though he did manage to get some information out of his mom. Apparently she seemed overly concerned about his drinking habits and while the Puckerman had thought that was just a normal, motherly thing to do, the amount of references she was making to his dad told him there was more to it. Still, Puck had been unable to figure it out, since his mom had been ignoring him ever since. Secretly, it was slowly killing him, which was the reason why his drinking habits still hadn't changed. Fortunately for him, it went by unnoticed by Sam and Blaine, which spared him a lot of explanation and sympathy. "Just the annual Hanukkah thing with my mom," he answered with a shrug.

Sam had always seemed to forget that his friend was Jewish, since he still felt surprised when he mentioned something that related to it. "Why did you ask anyway?" he then questioned, figuring Puck had never been interested in holiday events before.

The mohawked man shrugged. "I had this idea, but I guess it's stupid," he waved it away, needing some extra courage to actually voice his plan.

And Sam was happy to provide him with that. "Come on, man, tell me. I'll judge if it's a good idea or not," he pushed, showing him a confident, friendly grin.

As expected, it was the last push Puck had needed.

"Remember how we've talked about Blaine being lonely and shit?" he reminded his friend, who nodded affirmatively. "He told me his parents will be out of town during Christmas," Sam's face fell sympathetically, averting his gaze to the floor as he frowned, "so I thought that maybe we could do something nice for him. I don't know, watch a chick flick?"

Surprised by Puck's friendly gesture, the frown faded from his features to let out the bright, goofy smile he emitted when he felt proud. "Why would that be a stupid idea?" he said, giving Puck a weird look, "that's actually a great idea. We could…like…hang up those red socks or a tree…or…or we could decorate his whole house!" He was now excitedly wobbling back in forth from his hippy style position on the floor.

"Calm down, you fucking elf," Puck scowled, rolling his eyes at Sam's sudden hyperactivity at the idea, for he knew Christmas was the guy's favourite holiday. Little did Puck know that Sam had sneakily put the focus on decorating, instead of cooking a dinner. His stomach had already knotted at the idea of having to prepare food and not being morally able to get out of eating it.

Blaine's eyes almost rolled out of their sockets when his friends showed up on his doorstep a day before Christmas Eve. They were carrying boxes full of ornaments and the curly haired one's face had showed a mixture of surprise and happiness, while his heart flooded with warmth. "What are you guys doing here?" he had asked, even though it had been an unnecessary question.

At the end of that same afternoon – Blaine had occasionally watched his friends bicker over the colours the tree should have with a smile – the boys were smirking in a satisfied way, walking around the different rooms they had transformed. The joyous spirit had been everywhere around the house and whether it was because of the decorations, or because of the presence of his friends, Blaine had definitely felt less cold. The tree made the living room look smaller and more intimate, which seemed to push out the emptiness and loneliness the Anderson had been experiencing. In an impulse, he wrapped his arms around both their waists, pressing his cheek against their chests. Puck had snorted at the boy's display of his affection, shaking his head judgmentally while Sam's face flushed a soft pink. Still, they exchanged a smile that exposed what they really thought of Blaine's hug and wrapped their arms around him, Sam ruffling the youngest one's hair.

"And as a final offer," Sam said when they were finally relaxing on the sofa, a Coke in each one's hand (obviously, Puck had sneakily spiked his), "You may pick what you want to do tonight."

"Yes, we're up for anything," Puck smirked, giving him a convincing nod, "except for something girly."

Sam nudged his shoulder playfully before he averted his gaze back to Blaine, who was now expectantly being stared at by two sets of eyes. He frowned thoughtfully, looking up as he cocked his head to the side in that signature way of his. To be perfectly honest, there was one thing he desperately felt like doing. He didn't know why, though, but it was probably because of the warm atmosphere that had been coating the room that he felt like having some physical contact. The earlier hug had let that shine through, but the Anderson still felt awkward for proposing such a thing. He knew that Sam and Puck had never questioned their intimate times, but the same feeling he had when the guys had spent the night and their bodies had been casually touching was still nagging his consciousness.

"Anything you want," Sam pushed again, because he and Puck had both already suspected what it might be, but it was the badass who wasn't going to be awkward about it.

He clenched his jaw before he gave in, throwing up his hands theatrically as if he had just been shot. "Look, Hobbit," he started, "we both know that you've been lonely." Blaine opened his mouth to say something, but Puck quickly continued. "And don't you even fucking dare try to prove us wrong," he shut the other boy up, "we might not be the smartest of people. Especially Sam isn't…"

The blond frowned in offence, pressing his hand against the side of Puck's face. "Hey!" The mohawked male chuckled. "But we're not blind," Sam continued Puck's sentence. "It's kind of obvious that you're feeling alone."

Recalling some of Sam's older words, about him being an open book, Blaine finally forfeited, realizing that he could at least tell them half of the truth, or maybe sugar-coat it a little. His friends had been bound to find out, but Blaine could at least cover some things up. Besides, why shouldn't he let go of his pride for once and allow his friends to see him a little more vulnerable? They had been inseparable for the past two months and that definitely said something.

"Yeah, seriously, dude, when's the last time you had some?" Puck suddenly pulled Blaine out of his thoughts, earning him another face-palm from Sam.

Blaine sighed sheepishly, not daring to look at his friends. "Fine…" He gave in after a moment of silently building up the courage. "I get lonely sometimes. I just didn't want to tell you guys because it makes me sound so pathetic."

Sam was the first to frown at that, but Puck's mouth had once again proven to be quicker. "That's bullshit, dude. The way I sat at your kitchen table two weeks ago was pathetic. Hell, admitting that you're lonely is nothing compared to that."

"Yeah, but you had a good reason; the search for your dad," Blaine countered.

"And don't you?" Sam now spoke up, "I've said it once before and I'm saying it again: look at this _house_. It's already insanely big, especially when you're alone."

Blaine shrugged lightly, feeling guilty, since his friend's words weren't changing his opinion. He still felt stupid and he hadn't even told them that he still wasn't over Kurt yet. It was ridiculous. How bad would he be beating himself up when he told them _that_?

"Just stop being so fucking gay about it and get your tiny ass over here," Puck grumbled, beckoning him over to the sofa Sam and he were already sitting on.

Blaine couldn't help but still feel embarrassed as he slowly stood up from his place and slumped over to his friends. Sam grinned, and, when he was in reach, grabbed Blaine's wrist and yanked him down in between Puck and himself. He scooted close to Puck, almost forcing Blaine to rest his head against his chest. The mohawked guy had already swiftly wrapped his arm around Sam's shoulders and as soon as Blaine got comfortable, laid the hand on his free arm on his waist. A comfortable silence fell around the three, in which Blaine was enjoying the physical contact, Puck was quietly sipping on his drink, and Sam was watching their tangled limbs.

"Isn't this weird?" he asked, suddenly breaking their blissful moment.

Blaine scrunched his nose and Puck groaned exaggeratedly. "I knew you were going to fucking say something about it," he grumbled, eying him judgmentally, which made Sam suck in his bottom lip defensively, "who the fuck cares if it's weird or not?"

"I don't think it's weird," Blaine shrugged, an innocent look on his face, "it's nice…"

"I wasn't saying that it doesn't feel good, just…I don't know. I've never been this way with friends before," Sam tried again.

"I've only cuddled with Kurt," Blaine announced, truthfully.

"I never do this shit either, but as I said, who cares? I'm not going to question all the things I fucking like. I don't see why it's important to have a reason for anything. Some things are just the way they are," Puck admitted, indifferent.

"So you guys actually like this?" Blaine then asked, frowning at himself. He had always figured that neither of his friends did since he was convinced they were straight.

Sam glared at Puck through his blond bangs. "I do, yeah…" he confessed softly, slightly ashamed.

"Call it a guilty pleasure," the mohawked guy answered.

Blaine had sat up slightly by this point, so much that he could now show his friends his surprised look. "Really? I always felt like I was bothering you guys," he said, with an undertone of astonishment in his voice, "I mean, obviously I never commented on it when we were hugging or something, because I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable, but now that I know this…"

"Now what?" Puck snorted, "Don't think you're allowed to ask for it now."

"Speak for yourself," Sam whispered playfully.

Blaine choked out a laugh and felt his body relax more into his friends' touches. This knowledge had been totally new to him, but the boy already knew that it was going to make his life a lot brighter. Even though neither Puck nor Sam really knew the truth on what was going on with him, the realisation that his friends would always be there for him soothed him a little.

"Best Christmas ever," he mumbled with a grin.

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**Author's Note: Heads up! The next chapter is going to be somewhat dramatic. Stay tuned and don't forget to review; your words are like drugs to me.  
**


	9. Rock Bottom

_Chapter eight_

To Blaine's relief, and to Sam's shame, winter break was finally over. And where the younger of the two felt excited and energized to go back to school, the older felt drained and indolent. Grease would be opening in one week and the whole Glee Club was already starting to feel nervous. Unfortunately, the blond felt like he was suffocating under the pressure and had even started to question himself as to why he had auditioned for the second biggest male role in the whole play. He should've known better, since he had been busy enough already. Still, tutoring with Blaine had improved his grades a little…But it somehow started to seem like with every improvement he was making, another even more stressful event would come to the surface. For the first time since his eating disorder began, Sam had noticed he was slowly starting to lose weight. The pounds he shed started to speak volumes of his lack of self-control. His lying skills had also proven to have gotten better, since Puck and Blaine had lain off of him. His stomach also rumbled a lot less, but the blond found himself sleeping a lot more than usual, for his body needed to compromise the lack of energy it was receiving. He felt cold almost every day and sometimes have to rub his hands together to stop them from trembling.

And then there was the concern for his friends. He knew that he would sound selfish if he'd actually admitted out loud that he felt like they should deal with their own stuff, but Sam wouldn't be himself if he would stop helping them out. He had spent as much time with Blaine as he could, and even though Puck didn't really like to talk about his feelings nor about his situation at home, Sam still made sure to let him know that he understood.

The teen had become aware of his bad eating habits, but his naïve nature got the best of him, convincing himself that it would turn back to normal as soon as his life would, too. Little did Sam know that one first had to hit rock bottom before one could rise again.

But one of the three was going to experience that during the upcoming week.

Communication in the Puckerman household was still lacking. Mrs. Puckerman was still taken off guard by the outburst Puck had the night he showed up drunk at Blaine's doorstep. She had seen a whole other side to her son and it made her remember things from a past Puck wanted to know about. Still, Mrs. Puckerman had been reluctant to let anything slip about her ex-husband, for she wanted to protect herself from those awful memories. She had almost spilled some details when Puck, once again, drunkenly challenged her, desperately trying to get the tiniest little bit of information out of her. Still, Puck felt guilty about the things he had said and about his behaviour.

But he would be damned if he would apologize to her. It was his dad and he had a right to know about him, didn't it say so on his birth certificate or something? It was fucking ridiculous how she was acting and Puck was growing tired of it. Something else started to develop too, because where he first thought that his mom wasn't keeping any secrets from him, he was now sure that she was. That realisation freaked him out, even though he would never admit it, and caused him to have the urge to forget even more. His mind would go raving on about all kinds of awfulness his father might have done in the past, which is why he still liked to drink every day.

After his night at Blaine's house he had gotten more careful and inconspicuous about it, though. He had bought this flask which he could fill with Jack Daniels and would go as unnoticed as he had yet only dreamed of. It made it easier for him to have a drink without anyone realizing, so it was the perfect idea.

For a while, he had given up on trying to talk to his mom, and apparently she had had the same thought about him. The atmosphere around the house was semi uncomfortable, even a little tense at times, but they weren't fully ignoring each other. Somehow, they had just grown more conscious about how much their words could frustrate one another, which only proved that Noah sure was his mother's son.

The night of the musical performance arrived and Blaine had already been at school the whole day to help set up. It took his mind off things and he had an excuse not to sit around the house all alone. Sam wanted to go with him, but figured he should do some homework beforehand and if he would leave his house around dinner time, he could tell his parents he was going to have a meal at school, while once there he could say he had already eaten. The comic book freak still didn't want his two finger trick to become a habit and tried to only use it as a last resort when he really couldn't get out of eating. Somehow, this usually had involved being around Blaine or Puck, since his parents didn't have the time to pay as much attention to him.

Obviously, Puck had been invited by his friends to come see the show. It was the reason why he hadn't ben tipsy yet on that particular Thursday early-evening. His flask had still been filled and carefully put inside his pocket, though, for one was never sure how a night would turn out.

It turned out that it had been a wise decision.

Downstairs, his mom was situated at the kitchen table. She was working behind her laptop, glasses on her hooked nose, and didn't bother to look up when her son entered. Puck silently opened the fridge and drank some Coke straight from the bottle as he look at her from the corner of his eyes. The room had filled with tension in about half a second and it started to really bother Puck. So he sat down at the table opposite his mother, glaring at her, before he opened his mouth to say something.

"Why won't you tell me anything about dad?"

His mother sighed immediately and sat back in her chair, a sign that she had been fully aware of Puck's presence. "Noah…" she whined as she took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"No, mom, seriously," Puck pushed, "he's my _dad, _I'm allowed to have some answers and this shit you're doing is messing with my head."

"Well your behaviour has been messing with _my _head, so I guess you'll just have to accept it," his mom bit back, unwilling to let anything go. The behaviour of her son still made her feel uncomfortable.

Puck sighed deeply, because he knew what she was referring to. He understood that it must be difficult to see your son wasted every day, but he figured that she knew why he did it, so if she had the key to changing that behaviour, why wouldn't she use it? "That'll be back to normal if you give me some answers." He watched as the vein on his mother's forehead grew bigger.

"No, Noah, _first _you are going to act like a normal person again," she replied, her voice building in volume, "because I am not going to stand by and watch you turn into your father."

"Then what _was _my father?!" Puck now shouted back, already balling his hands into fists, a clear indicator of his frustration. "Maybe if you'd tell me I could fucking understand what you're talking about."

Mrs. Puckerman slammed the laptop in front of her, looking at him like only an angry mother could do. "Just take it from me, Noah; you don't want to end up like your father. The man is probably miserable, especially after we got divorced."

Puck's fist met the table in a loud bang; his mother wincing ever so slightly. "Would you stop being so fucking vague?!" he raged, "You controlling your words is pissing me off."

She stood up from her place on the chair to overrule him, for she would not allow her son to talk to her like that. As a matter of fact, she was sick of getting into the same fight over and over again. "If it's annoying you so much, then why don't you go?" she hissed through his teeth, a strand of her long, dark hair blocking her view. She tugged it behind her ear before she continued. "You can come back when you're acting like the son you once were."

Puck frowned deeply at her, knowing that her words weren't meant as definitely as she had voiced them, but Noah Puckerman was a stubborn one. "Fine. Whatever," he replied, already making his way out of the kitchen, "see if I care."

A slam of the door was the last thing that sounded through the Puckerman household.

"No, I've already eaten at home, thanks," Sam rejected Mr. Schuester's dinner offer, a lopsided smile on his face.

"Samuel!" he suddenly heard behind him, already grinning before he turned around to meet Blaine's cheerily appearance.

"Hey, Blainers," he greeted him, stepping forward to give him a tight hug. The dark haired boy couldn't help but let out a content sigh as his cheek met Sam's chest. "Are you ready for tonight?" the blond asked when he was able to look his friend in the eye again.

Blaine nodded, excitingly wiggling on his toes, making Sam realize how much the boy loved performing, even though he just had a small role. The Anderson, on the other hand, was fine with not being on stage for a long time. At first he hadn't felt like participating in the musical at all, but since he had admitted to his friends that he had been lonely, that had changed. Performing was still his thing and even though Grease was all about love, he wasn't going to let his breakup with Kurt get the better of him.

An hour later, Sam and Blaine were rehearsing their lines and lyrics quickly for a last time. The auditorium slowly flooded with people, including their own families. The room was still coated in nervous and agitated whispers when Puck wandered down the hallway of what had been his school half a year ago. It felt different to get into contact with the scenery again, although it always seemed like he had never left. Half the lockers were still broken, Mrs. Pillsbury's office still had a stand with many pamphlets and even the same uncomfortable red chairs were still in Glee Club. He shook his head, slightly snorting at the memories before he turned around and was greeted by two familiar faces.

"Noah!" the brown haired girl squeaked, "I didn't know you were back in Lima!"

"Didn't work out," Puck responded with an indifferent shrug, "How have you been, Rach?" He turned his head to the boy by her side. "Kurt," he nodded at him.

"Puck," the guy showed him a toothless smile, something the mohawked guy had always found weird.

"Kurt and I are doing fine, thank you," Rachel demanded his attention again, "New York is really amazing and we're having so much fun." She linked arms with Kurt, beaming at him for a moment. "Aren't we?"

Kurt seemed to be drawn out of his thoughts before he faked a grin. "Yes. Yes, we are."

Puck frowned at him suspiciously. "So what are you guys doing here?" he asked, already wondering how Blaine would take the news that Kurt was in the same building as he was, especially since he knew the former couple hadn't spoken to each other ever since the breakup.

"We've come to see the performance, obviously," Rachel answered, nodding, "the annual musical has always been such a big thing for Glee Club, and we wouldn't miss it for the world."

Puck shrugged; the main reason he was there being to see Blaine and Sam. "Alright, well, talk to you later then, I guess," he said as he put his hands in the pocket of his jeans, the metal of his flask pressing against the palm of his hand.

"We will, definitely."

Rachel was wrong.

"I can see Stevie and Stacy!" Sam whispered as he peeked through the curtain, before he got pulled away by his arm, courtesy of a nervous Blaine.

"Get over here, it's starting soon," the curly haired boy hissed, giving Sam a last tug on his shirt.

Sam, who knew Blaine always turned bossy when he got nervous, chuckled. "Sir. Yes, sir," he said robotically, angling his elbow as he touched his forehead with the side of his hand as a real army man would.

Blaine rolled his eyes at him before he got into the huddle with the rest of the New Directions. When they had put their hands together and exclaimed their yell, everyone got into position.

The spotlights turned on and the curtains were drawn, exposing the first set for the audience.

Sometime later, Blaine anxiously waited for the applause from the last scene to die down, walking up the set from behind as the stage was still pitch black. His timing was great, because he took a deep breath at the same time as the lights turned on and the music started playing. The Anderson smiled confidently as he voiced his first words, already getting lost into song as he did so. He looked down at Sugar, grinning at her for she was proving to have been perfect for the role of Frenchy. He walked down the stairs, the other girls of Glee Club swaying in the background as he sat down next to Sugar. The whole time, he had let his eyes float across the walls of the auditorium, making it seem like he was looking at people, but actually he really wasn't. It was a classic thing Broadway actors did, so that they wouldn't be distracted by the audience. But Blaine had forgotten that his eye level had dropped when he sat down and when he shot another look towards the public, his gaze instantly fell on Kurt. While not losing any of the lyrics, his facial expression twisted into surprise and he watched as his ex-boyfriend quickly averted his eyes to his lap, not daring to look back at him. Blaine frowned at the people around him on the stage, still keeping up his performance.

But now that he had seen Kurt, a million thoughts started going through his head. In that one quick glance he had noticed how good he actually looked, how much he had missed him, how guilty he felt for cheating on him and how much he wanted to talk to him. Blaine didn't have a problem with singing around the lump in his throat, but he couldn't restrain his eyes from producing tears. They filled rapidly and at one point there was no blinking them away anymore. However, his mind flashed back to his embarrassing moment in New York, where he had more cried than sung "Teenage Dream" and refused to let that happen again. So he bravely remained his composure, slightly struggling, but managing.

Puck watched Blaine perform with a smile. Sam had been up before him and he had laughed at his character, finding the role suited his personality perfectly. Softly chuckling at the lyrics of the song Blaine was singing, he sneakily reached for the flask inside his pocket. He had chosen a corner seat and he casually glanced at the woman sitting beside him before he took a swift chug from his drink. The alcohol tingling his throat, Puck found himself to be enjoying the show even more.

Blaine's rib cage had really started to get tighter around his lungs. He felt a bubble of air building up in the back of his throat, desperately wanting him to choke out a cry. But Blaine tried to hold it inside, still not blacking out. He thanked every possible God for making him such a determined and nervous performer that he could've dreamed the lyrics to the song. He couldn't help but shoot another look at Kurt, even from afar being able to define every muscle in his face, sum up the amount of time he had touched his cheekbone and recalling how often their noses had brushed against each other right before they shared their first time together.

Then, the music died, and as the angels around him held their ending poses, Blaine ran to the front of the stage. A tear escaped his eye and rolled down his reddened cheek, Blaine's gaze fixed on Kurt as he put the microphone in front of his mouth.

"Kurt," he panted, still a little out of breath from his singing, "Kurt, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for what I did to you." Adrenaline was being pumped through his veins by his beating heart. "I never should've cheated on you," a sob escaped his mouth, "I love you so much and I'm so very sorry for screwing it up. You were the best thing that ever happened to me." He sniffed, clenching the microphone in his hand as Blaine forgot about the dozens of other people in the room. "I was just so lonely…" he sobbed again, tears now freely streaming down his face, "And I still hate myself so much for upsetting you." He stared into Kurt's astonished eyes; his jaw had dropped ever so slightly. "I miss you. I hate that we haven't spoken to each other for so long," Blaine now openly cried. "The silence is killing me," he hissed through his teeth as his nose was running. Sweat that had appeared as little pearls on his forehead now made their way down his face, mixing up with his tears. "Kurt, I-"

At the exact same time as Sam grabbed Blaine by his shoulders, Puck stood up from the audience, a fake grin on his face as he clapped loudly. Hesitatingly, the other people in the room joined in and the mohawked man continued.

The sound of clapping hands reached Sam's ears as he tugged on Blaine's upper body, guiding him backstage. "Let me go!" Blaine exclaimed as he struggled to loosen himself from the strong grip, "it's Kurt, I-" But he didn't finish had sentence when he looked around. "Sam? Sam. Sam…I…"

The blond's eyes met his friends, Blaine's expression showing so much heartache it made him look away. Once they were out of view of the crowd, he embraced Blaine tightly. A thud sounded through the auditorium as the microphone in Blaine's hand hit the black carpet, throwing his arms around Sam's waist as he cried into his neck.

Meanwhile, the other New Directions members and cheerleaders on the stage had quickly taken their next stances, continuing the show as if nothing had happened, all the while unsure if the audience would buy it.

As soon as the audience had started clapping by themselves, Puck had quickly gotten up and sprinted backstage. He hastily looked around before he spotted his friends, jogging up to them. He shot Sam a questioning look, who just pursed his lips inwards with a blunt look. The frown on Puck's face deepened, but softened a little when he wrapped his arm protectively around Blaine's shoulders, his free hand softly smoothing his hair.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thanks for the lovely reviews you guys have written, I love reading them and it motivates me so much. Don't forget to let me know what you think about this chapter!**


	10. Baggage

_Chapter nine_

Blaine wasn't sure exactly how long he had been crying in the arms of his friends for, but couldn't care less in that moment anyway. Sam's chest felt way too safe and the movements Puck's hands were making through his hair felt too much like what his mother used to do, so the former Warbler allowed himself to completely let go of all his shame. Tears kept streaming down his face, damping the blond's shirt, who was shooting guilty looks at the oldest of the trio. Puck, on that matter, had kept his jaw locked in frustration; blaming himself for not taking what he and Sam had seen – Blaine's loneliness – to be any more serious.

A moment later, two familiar voices called out Blaine's name from behind said boy. With widened eyes, he turned around and all the embarrassment and shame he had let go of a minute ago suddenly found their way back into his body.

"Mom? Dad?"

Talking about his – almost famous celebrity – outburst with his parents had been the most difficult, cheek reddening and humiliating conversation of Blaine's life. His father obviously didn't understand how he could've done such a thing while his mother kept blinking her tears away and continued voicing her thoughts of self-blame.

From that moment, circumstances changed in the Anderson household. Both his parents had taken a couple of days off and taken Blaine out to do things, making sure that he wouldn't spend even a second alone. It had been nice and the teenager was thankful for them cleaning out their schedule in order to comfort him. It would've been logical if Blaine had been doing better from that moment forth, but it's common knowledge by now that things don't turn around that easily.

The youngest Anderson realized perfectly well that there would soon be an end to the progress they had been making as a family, knowing that his parents couldn't stay away from their jobs forever. After all, they were workaholics at heart and had become fond of their wealth.

So, a week and a half later, on a Monday morning, Blaine's parents announced that they had to get back to their busy lives. Fortunately for Blaine, all was good, because he had a plan for that day. A plan that would secure him some happiness…or so he thought.

"Call me whenever you want to, okay?" Mrs. Anderson assured her son one more time, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Aren't there any of your friends who can stay over every once in a while?" his dad asked with a frown, sliding a hand through Blaine's messy bed-hair.

"I'm fine," Blaine whined with a confident smile, "I feel bad bothering them, but I can always go to them when something is up."

His mother nodded a little, but the worried look hadn't disappeared from her eyes. "Okay, sweetie, if you say so," she accepted, "but we still don't mind if people stay over here."

Blaine sighed, "I know, mom…"

"Except for that…Puck? He seems a little…unhealthy. I think he's a bad influence," she quickly added, buttoning up her eggshell white blazer.

"Oh, come on, honey," Mr. Anderson grumbled, picking up his briefcase from the kitchen chair. "Let him be. I'm sure Blaine isn't that amenable," he said, placing his hand on her back as he gently pushed her towards the hallway, urging her to go. A quick wink towards his son and a waggling finger earned him a soft chuckle and then the door fell shut.

A car door slammed shut as Puck stepped out of the vehicle upon arrival to Sam's house. He stretched his back, which was hurting from the weird position he had been laying in for the past week. As said before, Noah Puckerman was a stubborn man, so it shouldn't have been surprising to know that he, indeed, hadn't gone back home after his mother had asked him to go. Therefore, the guy needed to sleep somewhere and since he didn't have a job, he couldn't even afford a cheap motel room. Luckily for him, his truck had a roof too.

"Sammy! Hurry up! Puck's here!" Mary Evans called from down the stairs, shooting Puck a roll with her eyes, a symbol of the annoyance at her unpunctual son.

"I know, I know, I'm ready," A stressed blond sounded from above before he quickly ran down the stairs. At one of the last steps he stumbled, forcing him to jump down to the safety of the ground floor, making Puck laugh teasingly.

"It's a miracle you have never broken anything," his mother commented with a sigh, handing him the brown bag that contained his lunch.

"Thanks, mom," Sam said as he took the object from her, pressing a guilty kiss to her cheek for he knew he was going to dispose of the food the moment he got to school.

In the meantime, Puck swallowed down the lump in his throat, averting his eyes jealously from the loving family. He turned on his heels, wishing Mrs. Evans a good day and indicated for Sam to take the passenger seat in his truck.

"Thanks for driving me, man. It sucks that Blaine couldn't and I hate taking the bus," the blond explained as he buckled up, a sudden wave of curiosity overtook him, making him peek into the bag, only to be repulsed by the choice of sandwiches his mother had so lovingly prepared for him. "Can I offer you something that looks like an egg and mayonnaise sub?" he asked, holding it next to Puck's face.

Puck looked at it from the corner of his eyes and took it. "You're welcome," he mumbled, moving his shoulder blades backwards into the seat to try to get rid of the ache in his muscles. "Why isn't Anderson going anyway? I thought he was a nerd and liked school."

Sam nodded innocently. "He told me he was sick," he answered, shrugging lightly.

"Really now?" Puck asked, "Did you know his parents are going back to work today?"

"They are?" Sam's facial expression showed surprise.

"Yup. Which means I'm going to pay him a visit after I've dropped you off," the guy with the Mohawk admitted with a locked jaw.

"You're not responsible for what happened at the musical, y'know," Sam suddenly sounded, his voice a bit gentler, because he didn't want to piss his friend off.

"We both are. We should've been more fucking considerate," Puck fired back, trying to guilt trip the comic freak along, who shook his head in response.

"Nope. We're not. He hadn't told us the whole truth when we said we knew he was feeling lonely," Sam insisted.

"Yeah, well, don't we all keep secrets every once in a while?" Puck countered, stopping at a red light at the same time. He turned his head to give Sam a judgmental look, whose green eyes darted away uncomfortably. He looked pale and Puck suddenly noticed his shaking hands. "You don't have to be a pussy about it," he commented, nodding towards his trembling fingers.

Sam's eyes widened ever so slightly and he quickly picked up his hands and rubbed the palms together, trying to warm them back up. "No…no, I'm not…I'm just cold…" he mumbled, staring out the side window.

"I just feel bad for the guy. It must suck to feel alone all the time," Puck went back to the conversation, referring to his own current situation.

"Yeah…probably…" Sam replied, not really being able to relate to the situation, given that he had always been surrounded by a large family.

The two of them fell silent; not really knowing what to say. They both felt bad and somehow guilty for their youngest friend, but on the other hand also had their own baggage to worry about. Baggage that would become even more real, for one of them, later that same day.

After dropping Sam off at school, Puck continued his drive to the Anderson household. He had tried cracking his neck a couple of times, but everything still felt uncomfortable. On top of that, he had also noticed a nasty smell, reminding him that he hadn't had a shower for a while. He gritted his teeth, already trying to think of an excuse so that he could maybe use Blaine's.

Minutes later, Puck had arrived at the mansion. He rang the doorbell and noticed that there weren't any cars in the driveway, which meant that Mr. and Mrs. Anderson probably already left. This relaxed Puck a little bit, for he knew that the Anderson's – especially Blaine's mother -weren't fans of his.

"Oh…oh, hey…Noah…what brings you here?" Blaine asked when he had opened the door, taken off guard by the sudden showing up of his friend. He hooked his index finger under his collar, loosening it a little. Neat shoes were pointing out from under his black trousers, which made his white shirt pop, covered by a dark blazer. A red bowtie finished the look.

Puck eyed the boy up and down with a deep frown. "Why are you so dressed up?" he asked, gesturing at the boy with his hand, "Sam said you were sick."

"Oh…I, err…I…" Blaine stammered, looking away sideways and scratching his head, "I was just…"

Puck cocked his head to the side suspiciously, narrowing his eyes and sliding his tongue along his teeth. "What'ya up to, Hobbit?" he asked in a demanding tone.

"Noah, I've asked you a hundred times, would you please stop call-"

Blaine couldn't finish his sentence, because Puck was already pushing past him. "Save it, Anderson, you're being secretive," he grumbled, making his way into the living room and poking his head into the kitchen; all the while not really knowing what he was looking for.

"Noah, would you- Noah, stop," Blaine said, stumbling after him.

Everything seemed normal on the ground floor, so Puck easily scooted Blaine aside with one firm push of his arm. Once up the stairs, he instantly walked into Blaine's bedroom, where his hazel eyes noticed a big open suitcase.

"Going on a trip?" he asked after he had turned around, facing Blaine with a stern look.

Said boy tugged on his own earlobe nervously, shrugging lightly as he didn't dare to look back.

"What the fuck is going on, Blaine?" Puck asked once more, "Were you going to leave or something?"

"Noah, would you please-"

"Blaine."

"I-I was only-"

"_Blaine_."

"Fine!" the boy forfeited, "I'm going to New York. I need to talk to Kurt."

Puck's jaw dropped an inch before he recollected himself. "You're what?!" he exclaimed, "are you out of your fucking mind?!"

"I need to see him, okay?" Blaine started to defend himself, "after what happened at the musical I need to explain. Noah…I made such a fool of myself. If I don't fix this I'll never have a chance at getting him back ever again. And…and I need him in my life, Noah. I'm so miserable without him. My life is so empty without him. Do you not understand? I'm going to be alone for an eternity or more if I don't have him."

Puck's chin was now practically on Blaine's bedroom floor. He balled his hands, because sure, he would fucking love to explode right now and his friend obviously needed a punch in his fucking face to get back down to fucking Earth.

"Blaine! You're a fucking idiot!" he fired off, beginning his rant, "Kurt doesn't want you back and you're a freaking moron for not seeing that. Jesus Christ, man, it's been what? Four months?! For fuck sake, _look _at yourself. You're still hung up on him while he hasn't given you the slightest hint that he even wants to be _friends _with you, let alone get back together with you."

A lump immediately formed inside of Blaine's throat, because Noah's words were hitting him right to the core. His eyes filled with tears as he walked past his friend, pushing the suitcase aside before he sat down on his bed. "I don't know what to do…" he mumbled, staring at the folded hands in his lap. His shoulders showed no backbone anymore whatsoever and if Puck would've had to describe the guy in that very moment, he would've said he looked like a lost puppy. "I'm so tired of feeling lonely. Even when my parents were spending time with me, I still felt this emptiness," Blaine explained, the palm of one of his hands pressed against his chest, indicating the position of his heart.

Puck closed his eyes, breathed out, loosened his fists and then opened back up before he sat down next to his friend. "You need to let it go, man," he spoke, trying to keep his voice under control, "you screwed up and you lost him. Period. I'm really sorry for you, dude, but you did."

Blaine let out a quiet sob at that. It wasn't new information to him, but to hear someone else say it was harsh, and hard to deal with. He sniffed as a tear slid down his nose, hanging at the point for a moment before dropping onto his trousers. "I know…" he admitted, barely audible.

Puck watched the boy, but then laid his hand on the back of his neck. "Good. That's a first," he said, "don't worry, bro, you'll get over it, yeah?"

The shorter one nodded silently and leant in to his friend's touch

"It's gonna be alright," Puck assured him.

After Blaine had settled down a little, Puck helped him clear out his suitcase again. The curly haired boy had finally really accepted that things were definitely over between him and his former lover. Turned out, he just needed to hear it from someone else, something that could've happened a lot sooner if he had been honest about his heartache from the start.

"Dude, would you mind if use your shower? I haven't had one today, because I needed to drive fucking Samuel, because you decided to skip school this morning."

That afternoon, the one who had to be dropped off was sitting in his Chemistry class. Test results were handed out and Sam was nervous, practically begging for at least a C. The teacher came up to his desk and Sam did his best puppy impression, as if a last helpless and innocent look could still change the grade that had already been written down on the piece of paper. Two seconds later, that theory proved to be untrue, because a red D was grinning up at him. Sam sighed, taking the test in his hands and looked it over quickly before figuring it wouldn't be much use. It was ridiculous; he hadn't eaten anything yet all day and now he also couldn't allow himself dinner. He rubbed his forehead as he felt his heartbeat racing out of annoyance. He had studied so hard for it, but still it wasn't enough. It was so really unfair. No one else seemed to be having the problems he was dealing with, so why should he? Why was he the one getting everything wrong in the world on his plate? The blond noticed his breathing rate increasing and he quickly tried to relax himself. This wasn't the time to get a panic attack or something. He didn't need that. He had to be in class and pay attention, try to pick up as much as he could for the next test. He looked up at the board where the teacher was drawing elements. _So if silver nitrate and sodium chloride add up it gives you_… He focused his gaze, for the black letters had suddenly started to blur and move around. Sam frowned and looked around the classroom. His chair seemed to be turning, so he held on to his desk. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, but the spinning increased.

"Can I be excused, please? Important phone call," he heard himself ask, already getting up from his seat before the teacher had given him permission.

Quickly, Sam escaped the classroom, which seemed to be shrinking with every second. Once the hallway, he jogged to the nearest restroom, slipping inside. He was panting heavily, a hand clenching his shirt where his lungs were. He grabbed the sink and tried to focus on his unstable breathing. Looking up in the mirror, his own reflection shocked him. He seemed to be paler than ever and the dark bags under his eyes had grown bigger.

"Calm down, Sam. Calm down," he told himself quietly, turning on the water with his shaking fingers.

He splashed some of the cold liquid onto his face, but it didn't relax him. It made him feel nauseous instead. When he felt like he was going to heave, he quickly ran into one of the stalls, locking it behind him for he was scared that someone would walk in on him.

"What's…happening?" he asked out loud.

He felt his knees starting to buckle and suddenly all energy seemed to have drained from his body. His vision tilted to the side and then everything went pitch black.

Meanwhile, Blaine was sitting next to Puck on the sofa in the living room, both holding a boiling cup of coffee in their hands. "I feel so stupid," he said, "I should've told you and Sam I wasn't doing okay. Especially when you guys said you thought I was feeling alone."

Puck nodded silently, staring at the nothingness in front of him.

"I mean, I just needed someone to face me with reality. That I'm not getting Kurt back and that I should let it go," he continued.

"Yup," sounded the response.

"Noah?" Blaine asked, a concerned frown growing on his face, "are you okay?"

That's when Puck met Blaine's eyes. "I think I need to tell you something."

Blaine's brows furrowed deeper and he sat up slightly, turning his body sideways and pulling a leg under him. "Sure, what's up?"

"My mom kind of kicked me out, last week," Puck decided to drop the bomb – tact wasn't really his thing anyway, "we got in a fight and she told me it would be better if I left."

"What? Really? Why?" Blaine stammered, shocked.

"I guess I pissed her off too much," Puck answered indifferently, shrugging lightly, "so yeah, I've been sleeping in my truck ever since Thursday last week."

"Thur-wait, the day of the musical?" Blaine asked.

"Yup."

"Oh, God…" he said as he shook his head, "but you couldn't tell anyone because of me."

"Wasn't planning on it anyway, so no," Puck waved it away truthfully.

"Can't you go home and apologize to her?" Blaine offered hesitatingly.

"Why should I? I'm not the one who's being an ass," Puck fired back, a little too fiercely. He sighed when Blaine frowned again, deciding that he should explain. "I've been asking her about my dad. I know she's keeping things from me, but she doesn't want to tell me anything. I don't know why. We fought because she has gotten tired of how I'm acting. We've been fighting a lot, lately."

"How have you been acting?" Blaine asked confused.

Puck snorted, finding it ironic that he had apparently been right; his friends really had no clue. "My drinking."

"What about it?"

"I've been doing it a lot, Blaine. A hell of a lot. Fuck, I'm drunk almost every day, but it's because I'm freaking the fuck out. I mean, if she isn't letting anything loose about my dad, he must've done something pretty horrible."

"Noah, you don't know that…"

"Oh, come on, Blaine. Think about it. I might not be the brightest Crayola in the fucking box, but I'm not that blunt."

Blaine sighed and stayed quiet for a moment. "Look," he broke the silence, "I don't know why your dad left you guys either, but I do know that you can't keep on sleeping in your truck."

"Fuck, dude, where am I supposed to go? I practically have no family around and it's not like I have money for a hotel room," Puck spoke irritated, his elbows on his knees and his hands open, helplessly.

"Why don't you stay here?" Blaine then proposed, semi surprised by his own offer.

"Whoa?"

"Yeah, you could stay here! Think about it. It's a win-win. I would have some company, my parents aren't ever around anyway and they even said someone could stay over," he explained, leaving out the part that his mother wasn't really fond of Puck, "you could stay here for as long as you'd like until you've figured things out."

Puck debated the option for a while. "I suppose…"

Blaine rested his hand on Noah's leg, staring at him. "Please? For me?"

A tiny smirk appeared on Puck's face before he caved.

"Fucking Hobbit."

Sam's eyes opened slowly. They slowly started distinguishing colors and his vision started to shape up again. He rubbed his forehead as he slowly sat up, and then frowned at the toilet in front of him. What time was it? How long had he been passed out? Then realization hit him. He'd blacked out. Fainted. Swallowing, he scrambled back up on his feet, unlocking the stall and getting out. His head was hurting slightly, but looking in the mirror he couldn't see something evident. A cold quiver went down his body and Sam hugged himself. His emerald irises had turned darker and were displaying misunderstanding and fear. Not knowing what to do because of the shock, he turned and made his way back to his Chemistry class, all the while rubbing his upper arms.

When he opened the door, he didn't receive a lot of stares, which meant that he probably hadn't been gone that long.

"Everything alright?" the teacher still asked, almost making out that he actually cared.

"Everything's fine."

* * *

**Author's Note: Sorry for not updating in a while. Please, do review! they're like drugs to me.**


	11. Interrupted

_Chapter ten_

"So you're living here now?" Sam asked, twirling his pen absentmindedly between his index finger and thumb. His homework was spread out in front of him on the Anderson's kitchen table, as it had been any other Thursday night for the past few weeks.

"Yup, until I've figured stuff out with ma, I am," Puck answered, nodding affirmatively. He was sitting across from the blond, a beer next to him which had been granted by Blaine; on condition that he would keep his mouth shut so that Sam could study. Blaine should've known that Noah Puckerman wasn't that easy to bribe.

"Noah, seriously, we made a deal. Stop distracting Samuel," he whined after he had let out an annoyed breath. The side of his head was supported by his arm, which leant on the table.

"You didn't let me promise. Should've been smarter and made me promise, Hobbit," Puck reminded him with a shrug, taking another swig from his drink.

"Noah, that nickname is really starting to-"

"Hey, you can't be upset, Blainers. You lied to me. I mean, wanting to go to New York and not telling me about it? Dude, that's seriously not nice," Sam interrupted his friend, shooting him a disappointing look with his lips sucked into his mouth.

"I was going to tell you, Samuel, I just knew that you were going to try and stop-"

"Blaine, could you shut up?" Puck sounded with a smirk, "the guy has to study."

The youngest one rolled his eyes and surrendered with a groan, allowing his forehead to fall onto his outstretched arm. Puck chuckled, enjoying his small victory with words, and Sam went back to softly nibbling on the end of his pen. He tried to read the words, but even with the room being completely silent, he couldn't really make out what they were saying. His eyes felt heavy, even tingled a little, and he felt tired. It was odd, because he had, like, 10 hours of sleep the night before, so he shouldn't feel that way. But boy, he could use a small nap, close his eyes for just five minutes and focus on his breathing. Relaxing and resting…

"Sam?"

The boy shivered and looked up at the frowning face of Puck.

"Dude, did you just doze off?" he asked, a mocking tone in his voice.

The blond shrugged one shoulder uncomfortably. "Lay off, I'm tired, okay?"

"It's nearly eight o'clock," Puck fired back.

"You could spend the night if you want to?" Blaine offered almost instantaneously, a glimmer of hope flashing in his dark irises.

Puck snorted, "You just want a three way cuddle again."

Blaine defended himself by making a face at Puck, but didn't deny it either.

"I suppose I could?" Sam ignored the oldest one's comment, "then you guys don't have to drop me off again and we can go to school together tomorrow."

Blaine smiled, not knowing how quickly to assent to that statement.

"Let me call my mom," Sam said, before he got up and left the room, already fishing his phone out of his pocket.

The shortest of the three watched him exit and then a questioning look grew on his face when he caught Puck's judgmental gaze.

"You're not getting any," Puck continued nagging him.

"Why did I offer you my home?!" Blaine grumbled, grabbing one of the crumpled up papers Sam had ripped out of his workbook in frustration earlier. Noah ducked and avoided the hit swiftly, choking out another teasing laugh.

"Alright, she's fine with it," Sam announced when he entered the kitchen again.

"Awesome! Now can we please get rid of that homework and order food?" Puck whined, finishing his beer and getting up to grab himself a new one, Blaine not finding himself in the position to comment on it.

"I'm not hungry," the blond said casually, averting his eyes to his homework again.

"Anderson, hand me my phone from the charger. I need the number of the pizza place," Puck demanded, pointing towards the counter behind Blaine.

"Alright," Blaine sighed, "but we can't keep on eating junk food. One of these days, we're going to actually cook a healthy meal."

It was ironic how unaware Blaine was of the accuracy of that comment.

"My phone," was the only thing Puck repeated, tediously.

"Could you maybe stop being an ass for just one-?"

"Yeah, hi, can I get one large pepperoni special with extra cheese…" Puck spoke, putting his hand on the phone, "what do you guys want?"

"A medium Hawaii," Blaine ordered.

"A medium Hawaii," Puck repeated, then shot a questioning look at Sam.

"Nah, I'm good, tha-"

"And another large pepperoni special with extra cheese," Puck spoke, finishing his order, before covering the speaker again, "shut up, you always want pizza."

That's how history repeated itself.

Sam didn't show his frustration, channelling his attention back to his work again. Still, he was definitely upset, because this meant he had to use his two-finger-solution again. He had already eaten a small dinner at home, had figured out exactly how much of his mother's pasta he could have without exceeding his set limit, but the upcoming late night snack would screw it all up. He entangled his fingers in his blond hair, scratching his head vigorously when he felt a lump starting to form in his throat. Why was he getting so emotional over this? Probably because he was tired, but that didn't mean it wasn't annoying.

"Are you okay, Samuel?" Blaine asked before he had exchanged a look with Noah.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam answered automatically, "I just can't figure out this reaction."

As he expected, his friend instantly started helping him out, trying to make him go through the steps of solving the issue piece by piece. Eventually, Sam got there and he gave Blaine a look that showed his gratitude.

Two assignments later, the doorbell rang, and Puck was the first one to get up; hungry as hell.

"Do you need-"

"I've got it," he answered quickly, cutting Blaine off.

He went out to answer the door, and the Anderson turned to Sam. "He hasn't let me pay for anything yet. I think he feels kind of guilty for staying over," he explained.

Sam just nodded, because the room had already filled up with the smell of pizza. His stomach growled, but nausea also bubbled up with that. Puck handed him his and the blond faked a smile. He wasn't looking forward to eating at all, but figured he didn't have a choice, remembering that his friends had already gotten suspicious of him once. Obviously, he didn't want that to happen again.

"God, I love pizza," Puck sighed, his mouth full with half of his first piece. Unfortunately for the other two, a hungry Puckerman wasn't a delightful sight, especially not an eating one.

Blaine snorted audibly, taking cutlery from one of the kitchen's drawers, earning him a weird look from Puck, but the boy didn't care anyway. He didn't like getting his hands dirty…well, not with food, that was.

"Does anybody want something to drink?" he asked after he had eaten his first slice, only looking towards Sam, since Puck was still on his second beer.

"Glass of water is fine," the Evans answered absentmindedly.

"You sure? I've got Coke, too, you know," Blaine offered politely.

"Water, please," Sam held on, remembering how many calories a glass of coke contained.

Again, Puck and Blaine exchanged an unseen look, but the younger one shrugged it off in an indifferent way. He poured the glass from the sink, putting it down in front of Sam, who seemed to be struggling with his food.

It didn't come as a surprise that Puck was the one who finished first, taking another beer from the fridge, knowing better than to ask Blaine beforehand. The answer probably would've been no anyway, given the judgmental look he was receiving from him.

Halfway through his pizza, Sam announced he was full in such a casual way that it wouldn't have drawn any attention. He closed the box, pushing it aside and getting back to his homework. He seemed zealous, but in reality he just wanted to keep himself occupied instead of trying to figure out when he should go to the bathroom. However, he realized he shouldn't take too long, because the food mustn't be digested. After a while – Blaine and Puck had been bickering about some house rules Blaine had set when Noah had moved in, rules that the latter of said boys naturally didn't agree on – Sam chose that his timing was okay.

"Be right back," he said in his most normal voice, getting up from his seat and walking into the living room. In the hallway, he debated if he should use the toilet there, but then figured that he would decrease the chance of his friends hearing him if he went in the bathroom upstairs. So he did.

Once inside, he locked the door, sucking in a deep breath to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to do. Even though he had done it a couple of times before, he would never get used to the disgusting feeling of throwing up. He knelt in front of the toilet, hanging over slightly, closing the space between his index and middle finger and opened his mouth. As he expected, he only coughed and heaved the first couple of tries, but after continuously tickling his uvula, it started.

"Samuel?"

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?"

Sam's eyes opened in shock, turning his head slowly towards the two familiar voices. He caught their gazes one by one, not even noticing the screwdriver in on of Puck's clenched fists. His mind soon raced with thoughts and he scrambled himself up onto his feet.

"I started feeling sick downstairs and apparently I had to throw up," he quickly lied, trying to talk himself out of it, "dude, that pizza place isn't-"

"Then why are you fingers covered in spit?" Puck interrogated him.

Sam raised his hand, looking at it with fear as if it wasn't his own, trying to think of something that could save him.

"Samuel…" Blaine softly spoke, taking a step towards him, his hands innocently put in front of him as if he was trying to gain the trust of a dangerous animal, "did you…make yourself…?"

"I…I…" Sam stammered, suddenly not able to come up with any good lies.

"Sam?" Puck asked warningly, slipping the tool into his back pocket so that his friend wouldn't notice.

"I…I felt sick, so…I…" the blond tried again, his heart rapidly beating in his throat as he still tried to think of an excuse.

"_Sam_."

The boy shivered at the demanding tone of the older one; while in the meantime, Blaine's worried facial expression was just about killing him.

"Guys…I just…"

"For fuck sake, Sam, just fucking admit that you made yourself throw up!" Puck then exploded, his fist meeting the bathroom tiles in a loud thud.

"Noah, calm down," Blaine instantly tried to sooth him, shooting him a look that said that getting angry wasn't going to help either.

"No. I'm not going to calm down. I'm fucking tired of this bullshit," Puck hissed as he stepped forward, grabbing Sam by his shirt.

"Noah!"

"Admit it, you asshole. I'm fucking sick of your lying," Puck continued, right into Sam's scared face, "I felt like a jerk for thinking that I had noticed it the other day, but you had done it then, too, hadn't you? When we were at your place and had pizza. When I heard you and even fucking _asked _you if you were doing okay, you decided to fucking lie to my face."

"I…I…" Sam stammered, the green of his eyes starting to blur thanks to the tears they were filling up with.

Blaine tugged on one of Puck's arms, trying to make him let go. "Noah, please, this isn't the right way…" he, apparently successfully convinced him, because Puck loosened his grip.

The fist that had been clenching Sam's shirt slowly relaxed and Puck noticed that the blond's bottom lip was trembling.

"Sorry," the Puckerman grumbled, now letting go of his friend and taking a step back.

A short silence fell in between them, where in the boys all took in the situation they had found themselves in, Blaine being the first to speak up.

"Why?" was the only question that slipped past his lips, giving Sam an empathizing, but not understanding look.

"I…"

"Your body is amazing, Sam, why are you doing this to yourself?" Blaine continued.

"Yeah, dude, you're ripped. Why lose weight?" Puck bluntly added up.

That's when Sam realized that, even though his friends had found out about his secret, they clearly didn't have a clue about what was really going on with him. This offered the blond possibilities and even a way out.

"I just wanted to lose that last bit of baby fat," Sam heard himself starting to explain, "I tried working out more, but that didn't help, so then I figured I should try something else. I read about…this…somewhere on the internet and people said it helped, so…I tried."

Ironically, Sam was now using his naïve nature to his advantage, knowing that was also the way people would describe him, but that made all of his obliviousness fade; realizing that one's naïve takes it away.

"But it doesn't," Blaine replied sympathetically, "it makes you think that it does, but in reality it slowly destroys you. The way you see yourself changes, Samuel."

Sam sucked his lips inwards awkwardly, examining his shoes, which all of sudden seemed a lot more interesting.

"Anderson's right, dude," Puck backed up, "all those anorexic people just end up like fucking skeletons and they still think they're fat."

The blond shrugged in a barely visible way, embarrassment taking over his consciousness. His knees were shaking, because of the throwing up. It was Blaine who suddenly noticed his friend's weak state, putting his hand on his back and softly rubbing it.

"Are you okay?" he asked, "You look like you need to lie down."

"Just tired," Sam answered, the beginnings of a gentle smile pulling on the corners of his lips, "but yeah, that isn't a bad idea, I guess."

Puck walked out of the bathroom first, needing a split moment to settle down his thoughts. Damn, even though he had suspected it once, facing the truism of it was hard.

Sam washed his hands and rinsed his mouth, getting rid of the bad taste in it, Blaine all the while staying next to him to make sure he was okay.

Once inside Blaine's bedroom, the blond crawled onto his king sized bed. "Sorry, guys, I'm exhausted," he let them know, lying down and closing his eyes. Never had he liked acting so helpless and sad, but in that moment he couldn't care less. He felt drained, tired and since his friends had found out what he had been doing; he didn't have any reason to put up an act.

The other two settled down next to him, each covering a side. Blaine was going to let Sam be, but as for Puck…ever since the shit he had been going through revolving around his father, he had started to develop a thing for answers.

"For how long has this been going on?" he therefore asked.

"That time you heard me…was the first time I had done it," Sam admitted softly, shifting onto his side and folding his hands under his pillow, facing away from the oldest one of their little group.

"I just don't get it, dude," Puck continued to voice his disbelief; "you've got an amazing body. Hell, it's even better than mine. How can you not see that?"

Sam chewed on his bottom lip before answering, "I guess I just see it differently…"

Puck nodded quietly, trying to wrap his mind around Sam's words, which still proved to fall hard on him. Soon, the blond's breathing relaxed and it was clear to Blaine and Noah that their friend had taken off to dreamland. Just every once in a while, his body would shiver, for it was channelling the last bits of energy to things that were more important than managing his warmth.

Puck had been lying on his back and turned his head to examine his friend, then realized he was cold. The sheets of the bed were swamped under three bodies, so Puck figured he should come up with something else to keep his friend warm. He shifted on his side, scooted closer and wrapped an arm around Sam's chest, his other arm supporting his own head so that he could look over him. Meanwhile, Blaine had watched the cuddling happening and he couldn't help but give Puck a judging frown, because his friend had made comments to him on the same subject earlier.

"Shut up. It's not the same," Puck already warned him, causing Blaine to chuckle a little.

"I'm not saying anything," he replied cheekily, scooting closer towards Sam himself. "So…you were right," he then spoke softly, his hand pushing the blond strands of hair out of Sam's closed eyes.

"Hey, I had changed my mind about it too, y'know. It's just…when I picked him up the other day, he looked so fucking bad. His skin's like that of a zombie's and have you seen his eyes?" Puck explained, "And when I mentioned something about secrets, I just knew. He looked like a deer caught in headlights."

Blaine nodded, "I can't believe I haven't noticed it earlier. I see him five times a week."

"Which also explains why you haven't," Puck responded.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, isn't it that, like, it's harder to see long-term change when you're faced with it every day?" the mohawked man explained.

Blaine's face lit up a little. "That's true," he admitted, proud of his friend's wise words.

"Anyway," Puck said, "thanks for helping me trick him. I would never have busted his ass doing the deed without you."

* * *

**Author's note: Thank you for the lovely reviews! It's nice to know that people are still interested in this story. As for the update speed; I've been writing for a couple of years now and unfortunately I've to admit that I'm just one of those writers that updates regularly for a certain amount of time, but then finds himself in a block. I'm sorry if any of you guys have to dig into your memory to remind yourself what this story's all about, I genuinely feel bad about that, because I know the feeling. Still, thank you for keeping up with it and for reviewing! It means so much to me to see that people actually appreciate the time I'm putting in this.**

**Also, a shout out to my wonderful boyfriend, who has been beta reading for me! **


	12. Second Down

_Chapter eleven_

The next morning, Sam was the first of the trio to wake up. After rubbing his eyes, he tried to stretch, but found himself obstructed. Puck's arm was still draped around his chest, Blaine had his waist covered and he wasn't even going to attempt to untangle his legs from the other four. He exhaled some air into his mouth, causing his sticky lips to slip apart, and he released the breath. A little uncomfortable, he shifted his weight a little, frowning when he noticed he really wasn't going to be able to get out of the human prison. The warmth that his friends were radiating into his body was somehow causing him to yawn widely – so widely he was glad no one was awake to see it, because it sure would've triggered some teasing comments. He watched Blaine, who was moving his head more into the pillow.

"Sam…" he softly called.

"Hmm?" the blond replied.

"Noah…" Blaine then sighed.

Sam suddenly noticed the loving tone in the boy's voice and he had to lock his jaw in order not to exclaim a laugh. Apparently the youngest one was dreaming about him and his other friend and Sam was sure it was a _very _nice delusion. He chuckled as softly as he possibly could, then felt Puck's arm twitch, concluding in Sam holding his breath again, hoping that he wouldn't wake his bro up.

Back to looking at Blaine's alluring facial expression, Sam started wondering about the situation he had found himself in. He had admitted to liking the cuddling he and his friends sometimes did out loud once before, but it still felt a little awkward realizing it. Naturally, the comic freak had always been a hugger, but sleeping with his best friends and…touching…was definitely stepping it up a notch. Puck bussed behind him, scooting a little closer. Sam assumed he was having a nice dream too, because…oh God, oh God, oh God. The blond quickly moved his hips forward a little, breaking the contact between his bottom and Puck's…yeah. He shivered at the thought, but frowned at himself when it came to his attention that his quiver wasn't one of disgust. His eyebrows knitted together even more when he started questioning himself. Great, another thing he now had to worry about.

But the mohawked man's voice echoed in his mind, "Call it a guilty pleasure." Sam couldn't help but smile a little at that, feeling his thoughts die down. In that particular moment in history, he had joked about maybe asking for a cuddle sometime, but had never actually done it. The tension he was experiencing just a minute ago had subsided when he reminded himself that his friends liked it too and it was then that Sam vowed to himself that he _would _ask for some physical contact every once in a while. He had to admit that, somehow, the world seemed brighter when he was trapped in the embrace of his friends, almost like the baggage he was carrying on his shoulder had become lighter. Sam was too oblivious to have actually understood the true meaning of those feelings.

But calling said baggage back to his mind made him anxious again. He felt guilty for lying to his friends, but he just couldn't afford to tell them. They probably wouldn't understand how his eating disorder was the result of too much stress in his life, would most likely even call him weird and that was something the Evans teenager didn't need. And then there was the issue that his friends now actually _did_ know about what he was doing to himself, making it even harder for him to continue. What would he expediently do if he lost what at least _felt _like his last grip on his life? What would he fall into? Would he crash and burn? Become lost and just stop moving?

He was about to find out.

While Sam had been debating his options, Puck was the second person to wake up. The weird arm muscle twitch had been the cause of this. He didn't open his eyes immediately, though, nor would he move his body, never, actually. No, Noah Puckerman was definitely a snoozer. Even if his brain would be active and present, he would try to remain in that blissful feeling of rest. The boy who he was still holding – which he cursed himself for, because that fucking Anderson had been right about cuddling; it was some good shit – moved away from him a little. That's when Puck realized he was sporting a massive case of morning wood. Trying to keep himself from bursting into laughter, he wondered if Sam had been awake and felt it, that being the reason that he had relocated himself. He focused on his hearing, but it turned out that the Hobbit and the Dork were breathing simultaneously, hindering him to make out if one of them was doing it differently. He shook his head mentally; "so gay," he thought.

The ends of Sam's hair were tickling his nose and he scrunched it up, moving his head just enough so that they wouldn't anymore. The thought of the guy's hair made his mind flash back to the night before, where the blond bangs had obstructed him from looking into Sam's slightly reddened eyes. Puck recalled himself exploding and it irritated him. He had noticed that he was having outbursts a lot more often lately and he actually found it worrisome. Not being able to quite put his finger on answering the question "why?" frustrated him even more, so after a while of lying awake, he got sick of himself, resulting in him deciding to see if Blaine was already up.

Said boy had been having a vivid dream about his two best friends. It was one of the first nights that his mind hadn't drawn Kurt's face in front of him and he didn't really realize it, but he felt grateful and relieved. Never did he ever want to part from the two he was having mental images of, silently considering if they could maybe live together one day if he and Sam would go to college at the end of the school year. Blaine was convinced that, with some persuading, Puck would try to find a job and step on board, too. How awesome would that be, just the three of them, sharing an apartment for the upcoming couple of years?

Unfortunately, Blaine's dream disappeared when something big started feeling up his face. Scoffing, he fluttered his eyes open, a confused and annoyed expression on his face.

"Noah, what the-?"

"Hush, Anderson, you'll wake Sam up," Puck reminded him warningly.

"Already in the land of the living," the blond suddenly spoke up.

"Now look what you did!"

"What I did? Noah, your hand was feeling up my face."

"So? I had to check if your eyes were open," Puck explained.

"Couldn't you just have looked?" Blaine countered, still a little grumpy from getting ripped out of his sleep.

"Got a bit of a mood, don't we?" Sam interrupted their bickering, smiling cheekily, "were you having a good dream or something?"

"Yes, I dreamed that I was sleeping," Blaine lied, turning around to fake-mock, while he actually needed to hide his reddening face.

Sam chuckled, poked the boy's side and then pulled him close. Since he had surrendered himself to the great concept that was cuddling, he had decided to make the most out of every given opportunity, because even though he had vowed it minutes ago, he probably wouldn't have the guts to ever ask for one.

Blaine's cheeks only started to burn even more when he felt his back pressing against his friend's chest.

For a couple of minutes, the three guys lay there quietly, on Blaine's king sized bed. Each of them was entertained by their own thoughts and secretly enjoying the affection; Sam trying to catch every shot of excitement as he was caught between two warm bodies, Blaine revising his dream and Puck debating if he should thrust his hips forward just once, only to see how Sam would respond.

But he didn't, not wanting to end up making things awkward and…and maybe, just maybe, because he wasn't saying he would, it was just a slight chance that he might, maybe, _maybe, _would hate losing his bigger spoon privileges.

"Food," he broke the silence in one, long, grumbling whine.

Blaine snorted and Sam shot up. "Crap! What time is it?!" he asked no one in particular, for he was already wrestling himself out of his current position, causing the other two to internally groan.

"A little past eleven," Blaine answered, turning around to look over Puck so that he could read the red numbers on the alarm clock on his bedside table, something Sam had forgotten was there.

"No! No, that can't be!" Sam exclaimed, rushing his hands through his hair to turn it into something at least remotely presentable, "come on, guys, get up!"

"Dude, would you calm down?" Puck muttered, rubbing his forehead.

"Yeah, Samuel, why are you getting so worked up?" Blaine, always trying to understand, asked.

"Duh! We have school. Hurry up, we've already missed way too many classes," Sam answered, hoping that his words would cause his friends to take action at moving off the bed.

"Just don't go," Puck shrugged easily, showing the blond a weird look since that solution was so obvious to him.

"I'm sure we won't get in trouble if we missed a day," Blaine added, upping an eyebrow.

"Casually reminding you that this will be your second, this week," Puck mumbled.

Blaine ignored him. "Come on, let's go downstairs. I'll put on some coffee and prepare some eggs and bacon or something."

"Food!" Puck exclaimed happily, throwing his arms up in excitement after he had sat up.

"But…but guys…" Sam stammered, even though he knew it was a lost cause. Still, he couldn't really afford to not go. His grades weren't that amazing and he feared that skipping would be the definite death of them – needless to point out that was a ridiculous conclusion.

Puck got behind his friend, a devious smirk around his lips as he placed his hand over Sam's mouth, forcing him to shut up. An exaggerated action, but it at least had Blaine grinning.

Once downstairs, Puck sat his hostage down at the kitchen table, quickly taking his homework away, because he knew it would make the boy think of school. At first, Sam's mind was racing with worries that he would completely fail now, but then he heard the fusing of eggs in melted butter. His head shot up, immediately on his guard.

"Don't be bothered to prepare some for me. I'm not hungry anyway," he announced, tapping his heel against the floor nervously.

"Bro, you're gonna eat, whether you're hungry or not," Puck shrugged, pouring the coffee into three mugs.

"Don't worry, I'm great at frying eggs. You'll love it," Blaine smiled, moving the pan off the stove.

Just as Sam expected; his friends were going to make him eat. He breathed out a helpless sounding sigh, trying to think of something he could do. Apparently his facial expression was betraying him, because Puck reminded him, "And don't even think about throwing it up afterwards, 'cause Blaine and I are gonna be on your ass for the whole day."

Sam's leg started to move faster as he looked up at his friends. "Come on, guys…I told you, I'm not hungry," he tried again, starting to chew on the inside of his lips.

"Noah's right, Samuel," Blaine told him, making sure to keep his voice in a caring tone, "you need to eat and keep it in. Your body needs the energy."

Sam's eyes looked around the room as if he would find something that could possibly help him. Obviously, he didn't, so he vigorously changed his chewing strategy to biting down on his bottom lip. He needed to get out of this. He still had to punish himself for his friends finding out his secret and an egg & mayonnaise breakfast sure wasn't an option. He just couldn't, not after what had happened last night. Nothing in his life was going even a little as it should go and he needed to stay strong. He needed to remain stable, so then at least someone was. Eating wasn't going to solve anything; it would only make matters worse. The thin line he was hanging on would break and he would fall.

Blaine squeezed Sam's shoulder as he set the plate down in front of him. The smells had already made Sam feel sick to his stomach, but noticing that his friend had also put his two fried eggs and three stripes of bacon down as a little smiley face - like in those cartoons he always used to watch when he was little – caused a lump to form in his throat. Puck sat down across from him and Sam looked up. His eyes were begging for help, but the other remained a stern look. The blond averted his gaze to Blaine, who still standing next to him, but he just smiled encouragingly at him.

"Guys, please…" Sam choked out, directing his pupils from the one to the other again.

Puck shook his head silently and Sam huffed out a trembling breath.

He shouldn't eat. He really, really shouldn't. There was no way he was going to drop down that ravine and crash. It was out of the question, he had already set his mind to that.

"Come on, Samuel. It tastes good, I promise," Blaine tried to convince him.

The blond shook his head, tears welling up in his as he sniffed. "No…" he squeezed out of his throat, his voice an octave higher because of the snatch in his windpipe.

"Trust me," the youngest one assured him, rubbing his back.

"No, no, it's not…" Sam whispered, balling his hands, which were on his knees.

"For fuck sake, dude, just eat!" Puck demanded, avoiding Blaine's judging look.

"I-I don't…" Sam stammered, a shiver running down his spine, "…I can't."

"What do you mean, you can't?" Puck replied weirdly, "just open your mouth, put it in, chew and swallow."

"At least try it," Blaine offered.

A sob escaped Sam's throat. "Stop, please," he wept hopelessly, a tear escaping his left eye, "please? I-I…I…" Another sob forced itself out of his mouth, announcing the dam was broken. The blond started crying openly, his fists still clenched and his body trembling all over. "I don't wanna eat…" he yammered, shaking his head slowly as tears dropped down his face and onto his lap.

Puck was genuinely surprised by this extreme reaction and he shot Blaine a blunt look, guilt overtaking his conscious. This was fucking insane, all because the guy wants to lose some fat? Jesus Christ.

Blaine took the plate away and set it down next to the sink before he sat down next to Sam. Stroking his back soothingly, Puck moved his chair to the blond's other side.

"Dude…calm down…" he indicated softly, hoping that it would be comforting in some way. He put his hand over Sam's fist, rubbing the turned white knuckles with his thumb. Slowly, they started to loosen up and the blond wiped the tears from his eyes with his free hand.

"It's okay," Blaine said, "you don't have to eat…" He wasn't agreeing with his own words, but he figured it was more important that his friend would stop panicking.

Their consoling seemed to be working, because Sam visibly relaxed again. Exhaling loudly, he turned his head to exchange a knowing look with his friends, not picking up on each of their identical thoughts that quietly whispered:

Second man down.

* * *

**Author's note: I actually got feels writing this. Anyway, That's it for tonight's drama. Please, keep letting me know what you think by reviewing!**

**P.S. If there's any gif creators out there, hit me up. I need a Puck/Blaine/Same gif for my ads on Tumblr.**


	13. Fierce Frustration

_Chapter twelve_

The weekend had slowly passed and the school week had been starting to get busy again when Blaine was smiling along the hallways. The curly haired one had definitely been doing better ever since Noah had moved in with him and even though he knew he would go through hell the moment mother found out, he felt sane. Now that he had absorbed and processed most of his own sorrow, he could finally keep a close eye on his friend, a blond who hadn't been doing as well lately. Sam was lucky that he'd felt tired most of the time that he was awake, because if he hadn't, he'd most likely have spent his nights cursing himself in bed for letting his best friends find out about his newest tendency in habits. No matter where he would go at school, Blaine would always follow him around. Man, he even went into the men's room with him, which wouldn't have been as embarrassing if Blaine had gone for a number one himself. Sam was aware that he probably should've appreciated his friend's concern, but even after three days it had already gotten to annoy him. The youngest guy, however, had been feeling guilty from the start for not noticing about Sam's well-being, so he had promised himself to make sure that the boy wasn't making himself throw up anymore. Fortunately for Sam, Blaine hadn't thought more than twice about trying to make him eat again. The outburst had taken Blaine off guard and he was genuinely hurting for the blond when Sam cried, right there, at his kitchen table.

The table it just so happened that Puck had been sitting on around the same time that early Wednesday afternoon. He would've denied it if anybody would've accused him of just sitting there, a bottle of beer in his hand while he was peeling off the label. He had been doing it somewhat subconsciously and though normally it didn't mean anything with most other people, it was common knowledge that Puck only did it when he was deeply thinking. A quite hard task for the guy, let that be clear, 'cause he never did. A groan echoed against the walls of the Anderson mansion as he remembered "the good old times", where he wasn't worrying about anything. Those times were over, because lately his head had been starting to feel too small for his thoughts. Hell, first there was the stuff about his dad with his mom, then there was Blaine's semi-dramatic breakdown scene and now Sam turned out to be dying. Okay, maybe he was exaggerating a little, but it could happen, he had read it somewhere. Maybe Facebook wasn't the most reliable source, but still.

Puck's head fell back as he chugged the last of his beer down, letting out a satisfied "ah" afterwards. Yup, alcohol had been the only thing that could settle him down lately. You see, Noah Puckerman never used to worry about anything, so the fact that he actually now did made him feel uneasy. And even though his subconscious was trying to tell him that numbing himself wasn't the right way, his stubbornness had deafened him. His temper had decreased a lot because of it, he knew that, and he even found in somewhat scary, which resulted in him feeling uneasy again. A vicious circle, one could say. Luckily for him it wasn't a spiral.

Yet.

Getting up from his seat, he threw the empty bottle into the bin, making sure that it was hidden underneath the other garbage. Blaine had been on his ass about his drinking, which was kinda logical, but irritating nonetheless. After checking if his mohawk was still intact, Puck opened up the front door, stepping out into the cold January air. It was a somewhat important day for him, since he had decided to try talk to his mom again. The woman had checked up on him over text a couple of times and it showed that she still cared. It had gotten clear to Puck where he had his stubborn nature from, though, because his mother hadn't apologized for her fallout. Their fallout, actually, but she was the one acting like a bitch over everything, or so at least Puck thought. He shook his head, hands jammed in the pockets of his jacket to prevent them from the brisk, bracing wind. The walk from Blaine's to his house was a long one, but the morning after he had woken up in Blaine's yard, he realized he had been foolish as fuck for driving that night. It was dangerous, and there was a clear line between being badass and being plain stupid. So even after three beers and even though he knew he could probably drive perfectly well, he had still decided on walking.

His little sense of pride had faded when he arrived at his house, which suddenly seemed different. After he had fished out his set of keys from his jeans, he opened up the door. The familiar smell infiltrated his nose and it reminded him of the moments they had gone home after a long vacation. The rooms would have this certain smell which reminded him of home, but also had a new sense to it, which then made him realize he had, indeed, been gone for a long time.

"Ma?" he called from the hall, waiting for a response.

"Noah?" her voice sounded slightly surprised. Puck followed it into the living room, where she had been ironing her laundry, glancing at the TV every so often like she always did.

"Hey," Puck awkwardly greeted her, a quick wave before his arm would hang along the side of his upper body again. "So, err…so how have you been?" It was a weird question to ask your mom.

"Good. You?" she replied in a brief way, telling Puck she was still upset about him leaving.

"Yeah, alright," Puck shrugged, looking around the room as he had never seen it before. Silence coated it and he kicked against the cream white carpet, changing the patterns with the front of his foot.

"Did you come to get more clothes?" Mrs. Puckerman suddenly broke the quietness.

"No…" Puck answered honestly, but then hesitated, "…yeah. Yeah, clothes, of course." Maybe he should just admit why he had really came, but something was stopping him. The bond with his mom already was fragile and he was afraid that trying to talk to her again would crash it straight to hell.

"Okay," she just said, already back to her ironing. Puck had never seen her so cold and he couldn't deny it hurt. She was acting like he was a total stranger, someone far from her son. But on the other hand, maybe he had become that.

"Ma? Can we talk?" The words had suddenly left his mouth; Puck could even hear himself say them.

Mrs. Puckerman released a sigh, putting down her iron and looked up at her son, eyes slightly narrowed as she wasn't up for another fight. "How's your drinking?" she asked suspiciously.

"Good," Puck didn't hesitate to lie, "I quit."

"Don't fool me, Noah," his mother replied calmly, searching his eyes.

The teenager winced slightly and he felt intimidated way too easily by the alcohol running through his veins, causing him to admit. "How do you always know…?"

"I don't," she shrugged, unplugging the iron before sitting down on the sofa. Honestly, she had missed her son. The house had definitely been lonely since he left, which was probably the reason she was somewhat more easy going about Puck's drinking.

"Oh…" Puck said quietly, scratching the back of his head uncomfortably.

"Sit down," his mother suddenly indicated, the tone of her voice not allowing Puck to think about the demand. As soon as he had settled, she continued, "Do you remember how old you were when your dad left?"

Puck shrugged a little, unsure. "Five or six, I think?"

"And what do you remember?"

"…Nothing," Puck answered, giving her a weird look, "that's why I've been asking about him."

"Are you sure you don't remember anything about him?" his mom verified again.

"Pretty sure, yeah."

She sighed, resting her head against the palm of her hand as she massaged her temple. Obviously, she was debating her options and Puck could already feel himself starting to boil up inside. This was exactly what he had meant when he had accused her of being so controlled. It had made him wonder if she would've blurted out stuff more easily if he had confronted her out of the blue. Just gone on a rant.

But it had turned out to be a useless attempt.

"You were seven when he left," Mrs. Puckerman spoke up again, "you didn't really understand what had been going on, you were too young…but it had always surprised me that you didn't. It was…" She took a moment to shake her head as she looked at him, visibly revisiting her memories. "…It was almost like you had decided to play blind…and deaf…"

"What'd you mean?" Puck asked, his eyebrows knitting together, totally oblivious to the irony..

His mother breathed out a heave breath, sitting up a little. She leaned forward, he elbows resting on her knees as she moved her face closer to her son's. "Noah, your dad…he was a bad guy," she explained, "trust me on that. And trust me when I say that it's good that you don't remember."

Something snapped inside of Puck, causing him to groan in frustration and in disappointment. "Ma, come on!" he whined, rubbing his face with his hands, "for the love of fucking God, just tell me."

"It's for your own good, Noah," she assured him, resting her hand on his knee and squeezing it lightly.

"Ma, please…" Puck now begged, slightly touched by her soft approach. "I need to know. It's driving me crazy. Why can't you just tell me?!"

"It's for the better," she softly told him again.

The mohawked man glared at her for a moment, not knowing what else to say. His mother's eyes showed stability and assertiveness. Right then, Puck knew he had wasted his afternoon, so he got up, grabbed his still wet clothes from the hamper and took off. Gritting his teeth and kicking the pavement in a helpless attempt to get rid of his resentment. His hands got cold quickly and he realized that his clothes would probably be frozen together when he arrived back at Blaine's house, but he didn't care. The radiation of it all seemed to sneer through his body, his hazel eyes changing to a darker dye as his irises conveyed the impression of an unyielding hardness. It made him want to achieve an acute numbness that only one thing could really grant him with.

Kilometres away, while Puck was making his way to the Anderson's household, another couple was doing the exact same thing. A worried Blaine had once again given in to his guilt and had invited Sam over for dinner. Obviously, the blond had known that he hadn't been in the position to refuse, because while Blaine's apprehension had been annoying him, Sam was still too good of a person to not be touched by it. A tiny miracle, it actually was, because most of his feelings had closed up and shut down as his disordered eating cycle continued. And if that were true, it should've made him feel less stressed too, but the opposite was the case. Sam's body had accepted the new energy pattern and was trying its best to cope with it; collaborating as much as it possibly could from the little it was given. His once much appreciated muscles were wasting away since his body had begun to feed off of himself. Overall, it had been a slow process, but the results were now getting more visible every day. Unluckily, but luckily for Sam, his parents hadn't noticed anything yet. His father had finally found a potential job and all the focus in the Evans' household was on that instead.

"So, how're you doing, Samuel?" Blaine broke the silence as he turned the corner.

"Blaine, dude, seriously," his friend sighed, "this has been the fourth time you've asked me that today." He was feeling too tired to hide his frustration.

"Yeah…I know…" the other trailed off, moving his head to the side to loosen his tensed up neck. It always plagued him when he was blown off. He wasn't used to rejection, since his own polite nature usually didn't allow people a chance to be rude to him, so having his best friend openly show his irritation towards him definitely hurt.

"I'm sorry," Sam gave in after a while, the uncomfortable sphere in the car taunting his morality, "but you gotta stop making sure that I'm okay. I'm fine, Blainers." A toothy grin flashed across his face, strengthening the believability factor in his lie.

"You don't look very okay," Blaine replied softly, a little upset by Sam waving away his good intentions.

"Dude," the blond spoke up again, laying his hand down on Blaine's as if it had been a reflex. But Blaine had, of course, noticed. He always noticed body warmth and physical contact; it had become clear he was almost obsessed with it. The younger one looked at their hands, then back to Sam's matte emerald eyes. That's when the blond also realized his affectionate action and retrieved his hand, a vague pink blush colouring his pale cheeks. He broke their gaze, mumbling a not so reassuring, "I'm fine."

Blaine blinked a couple of times at him before he saw the stoplight in the corner of his eyes turn green and accelerated. "Have you figured what you want to eat yet?" he asked hesitatingly, wanting to continue the topic of their conversation.

"Something home cooked," Sam answered after a moment. He knew he couldn't tell his friend that he wasn't planning on actually eating when he had invited him for dinner, but after counting the calories for that day and finding that he still had some left, he had given in.

"I'll make a quick stop at the grocery store then, so that you can decide on what you want," Blaine stated, a sense of relief and happiness sounding through his voice.

And if the whole thing with Blaine and Puck hadn't been confusing enough already, next to Noah's weird seductive murmurs, it was the best connotation Sam had ever heard.

When the boys had parked and stepped out of the car, Puck opened the door to his second home. His clothes were, as expect, cold as fuck, but fortunately, so was the beer in the fridge. He opened the bottle before he went into the living room. He chugged half of his drink in big gulps, voicing a satisfied "ah" when the brown glass left his lips. In the mirror above the china cabinet, he smirked at himself; the devious look in his eyes empowering his arrogant and careless alter-ego.

"You don't have a father," he hissed to himself. "You don't have a mother." He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief when the realization hit him. He was never going to stop wondering about his dad, but he also wasn't ever going to find anything out about him. LA had showed him that he couldn't do it on his own and his mom would never come around.

Puck tried to keep his anger from boiling over by chugging more of the cold liquid, but soon it was empty and he still felt pissed off, which only frustrated him even more. He continued to clench his fist around the bottle as hard as he could, figuring that it wouldn't break anyway. He wasn't strong enough for it. He wasn't even strong enough to push away the questions about his father, so why should he be strong enough to break something? If he couldn't even control his own thoughts, how could he not be a weakling? It was fucking ridiculous. "Pathetic," were his own words, not knowing if he said it in general or to himself. His heartbeat rose and Puck was experiencing that tight feeling he always had when he was frustrated. Usually, he took a deep breath and tried to relax, but for once, he didn't want to. He didn't want to keep it in anymore. He wanted that time bomb inside his heart to go off. He wanted to explode. He wanted the width of his veins to bulge with the adrenaline that it would give off.

The beginning of a grumble started in the bottom of his lungs, increasing in volume as it went up his windpipe, expanding into a shout; a scream; an exclamation of his frustration. He cried it out, moving his arm behind his back and moving his right foot forward a little. "It's not fair!" he yelled, eyes screwed shut as he swung his body forward.

A loud thud was followed by the indiscernible sound of shattering glass. The pieces hit and scratched the wooden floor, leaving a mosaic of sharp glistering pieces.

"Noah, what the hell?!"

Puck was sure it was the first time he had ever heard Blaine curse.

"Dude, calm down. What's going on?" Sam asked, not as startled by the shock as Blaine was. He dropped the plastic bags on the sofa in front of him, quickly moving in front of his friend. The blond had always known about Puck's outbursts, but he had never witnessed one before. By impulse, he did the first thing that came to his mind; wrapping his arms around the older one's neck and hugging him.

People always know exactly what they have to do when they're in shock and Sam was surprised at himself that a hug was what his subconscious thought would do the trick. But as he thought about it more, still embracing his friend, he remembered that Puck preferred not to talk. The guy had convinced himself that he wasn't good at it, so he always responded to physical comfort. In that moment, everything fell into place and Sam's sympathy grew.

In the meantime, Blaine had dropped his share of the groceries on the floor, kneeling down next to the crime scene. He had picked up the bigger shards, all the while trying to process what he had seen, feeling scared, angry and vulnerable at the same time. Puck had always made him feel safe, but a part of that had been damaged now.

All the while, Puck hadn't moved, but had just been breathing heavily through his nostrils in an attempt to calm himself. He started to relax; Sam's hug also having a part in that, when he realized what he had done. Sure, he hadn't hurt anyone, but he had never actually fucking broke anything. He let go of Sam, showing him a quick, thankful smile.

"Shit, Blaine, I'm sorry," he apologized as he intended to lay a hand on his back while his friend rose to his feet.

"Don't," Blaine shrugged him off, moving himself towards the kitchen where he could dispose of the glass and grab a broom.

Puck stared at him when he came back into the living room, even though he wasn't getting a look. Short of words – which Sam now found logical – he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"It was a beer bottle, wasn't it?" Blaine confronted him when he had cleaned up the mess.

"I, err…" Puck stammered, looking away guiltily.

"Answer me, Noah!"

"Yeah…yeah, it was…"

It was ironic how such a small guy had authority over the big badass.

"I knew it," Blaine replied, throwing his hands up theatrically, before pulling himself together. "You promised me you wouldn't drink on your own anymore," he reminded Puck, pointing his finger blamefully at him.

Sam's eyebrows crooked up; he had forgotten about that promise too.

"I know," Puck responded, not daring to face his friend.

A short silence coated them again, which meant that both of them were lost in their own thoughts. Blaine was the first one who decided he needed some more of that same quietness.

"I'm going to prepare dinner," he said softly, taking the bags from their spots and walking off to the kitchen, leaving Sam and Puck to continue their train of thoughts together.

Releasing his pursed inwards lips with a pop, Sam asked, "What happened?"

Puck shrugged, dropping himself on the sofa and scooting down on it. "I stopped by my mom's," he explained, "tried to talk to her again, but…" Puck sighed, throwing his head back, "…nothing."

Sam was back to chewing on his bottom lip empathically, settling himself next to his friend, staring into the same nothingness before the two. He felt bad for not knowing what to say, but his mind was blank. The only things in the background of it were the sounds that were coming from the kitchen, another thing he was worrying about.

"Dinner's ready," Blaine announced half an hour later. His anger had visibly faded and had now made place for disappointment.

So it wasn't a surprise that dinner was uncomfortable; tense, even.

"It's good, man," Puck decided to be brave, figuring coming out with a compliment couldn't do any harm.

"Thanks," Blaine took it, not looking up.

"It is," Sam agreed, even though he was still toying with a piece of broccoli; once one of his favourite vegetables, but now not doing much for him.

When his words didn't lead to anything, Puck tried again. "I'm sorry for breaking my promise."

Blaine breathed out, putting down his fork. "Why did you?"

"I went home today," the mohawked man answered, "and ma still didn't let anything slip about my dad."

"Noah…" Blaine already sympathized, his facial expression softening.

"Dude, don't give me that. You know I hate it," Puck interrupted, reminding him with a stern look.

Blaine nodded, "I know. Let's just get past it. I'm not mad anymore, anyway."

Puck naturally agreed. Both Sam and Blaine knew that they couldn't say anything they hadn't said before, because there wasn't anything new to the subject of Puck's father.

And Puck was aware of that, so he didn't blame them.

They continued talking about daily stuff; light topics that could distract them from the depressing sphere in the kitchen. Blaine told them about what happened in Glee Club and Puck made funny comments on some things while Sam hoped his friends weren't noticing that he was having a hard time eating. Still, he finally finished the small amount of it on his plate, putting down his cutlery in relief.

The dishes were done by oldest two, leaving a smiling Blaine at the table, for the scene was way too homely to him; something he would never admit out loud. Afterwards, Puck was faced by the pile of clothes on his way to the toilet, making Blaine end up putting them in the dryer. Meanwhile, Sam made sure to retain his cool on the sofa, his knees pulled up defensively against his chest so that he would maybe stop feeling his body digesting the food he had just consumed. It was a weird feeling, something he was sure people couldn't normally feel, but he would have sworn he could. He knew exactly where the substance was located inside his organs. It caused him to feel nauseous and made him think about heaving, something he couldn't do since his friends were there. He closed his eyes for a minute, trying to let go, but at the same time thinking that he wanted to hold on. It was almost like he could see each side to every aspect in his life, which made him unable to make decisions. So the boy remained where he was, accepting that he wasn't accepting the situation, but still not really accepting it. As once said before: it was weird.

"You okay, bro?" Puck asked when he established himself next to him.

Sam opened his eyes slowly, not having the energy to fake a smile, but also not want to cause any worry. "I'm fine," he answered, not bothered that it wasn't sounding too convincing.

Still, Puck let it rest and he laid his hand in Sam's neck, squeezing his thumb and index finger every once in a while. The blond couldn't see that his friend was clenching his jaw, but Blaine did notice it when he came back in. He shot Noah a questioning look, who on his turn just shook his head. The Anderson squeezed himself next to Sam, sitting on the arm support of the sofa, rubbing his friend's back understandingly – even though he didn't.

Sam allowed his friends to comfort him, not feeling like brushing them off, talking or having fun anyway. To be honest, the only thing he wanted to do in that moment was disappear. All his troubles would be gone and there would only be nothingness. It shouldn't have sounded appealing to him, but it did.

He breathed out a heavy sigh, which made Puck tighten the grip around his neck and pull him towards him. Blaine slid down onto the actual seating of the sofa, leaning forward so that he could rest his chin on Sam's knee. In silence they sat there, because words weren't necessary in that moment.

And for the first time that evening, they weren't thinking about their own train of thoughts, but about figuring out the others.

It was something new, something special; their mutuality. Sam had always been the hugger, which had decreased slightly thanks to the new, confusing feelings that he was dealing with, but it was still his quality. Blaine was the resolver; always knowing what to say and giving good advice. And Puck was pure and hard realism, pulling everyone right back to earth when they needed it. Those three qualities were the points of their triangle, but in certain moments, they became equally as good as the other's element. And as explained in the past, those sharp points would soften a little and in the end dissolve, turning them into a circle.

For an hour the three boys sat there quietly, enjoying their small bliss. But there had to be a moment where they would have to break away again, which, in this case, was when Sam had to go home. Blaine drove him to his house while Puck waited up, pacing through the different rooms in the Anderson mansion, already overthinking what Blaine was going to come up with when he would come back.

"We've got to help Sam."

"Fuck yeah."

* * *

**Author's note: **I'm in the middle of my exams, but I finally managed another chapter. :3 We're definitely halfway through now, so this is the moment where I want you readers' opinion. What do you think about the balance between the three characters? Are you rooting for a certain ship (Blam/Spuck/Plaine), are you more focused on their personal issues or do you want an OTP3? Please, let me know in a review! I would appreciate it a _lot_.


	14. Too Little, Too Late

_Chapter thirteen_

"Man, there are a shitload of them…" Puck said with a surprised, but disgusted frown on his face, "How the hell are we supposed to figure out which one Sam has?"

"Maybe we don't have to…" Blaine responded with a thoughtful look, his eyes slightly narrowed as he concentrated. "I mean, if we want to understand Samuel, don't we just have to diagnose the cause?"

Puck looked down at his friend, eyebrows upped. His hands were on the corner of Blaine's desk chair, supporting his upper body as he had been leaning forward. "Dude, how in fuck's name would you know that?"

"Psychology intrigues me," Blaine answered simply, followed by a light shrug of his shoulders.

"And…how is this psychology?" Puck continued obliviously, "Isn't it pretty simple? The guy wants to lose weight, but he's doing it the wrong way? I mean, that's also what he told us, remember?"

The one who was sitting nodded slightly, letting Puck know that he was listening to him, but also way too focused to reply properly. "It says here that an eating disorder can be caused by the feeling of one not being able to process his failures and…" Blaine bent more towards the screen. "…And that victims often feel like they don't have any control in their life."

"So you're saying that Sam's being a pussy and can't face his problems head on?" Puck offered sarcastically, irritated because he didn't understand while his younger friend seemed to have grasped the content.

"Not necessarily…" Blaine disagreed, puffing out a deep breath as he sat back again, his shoulder blades trapping Puck's fingers between them and the chair. "I think he feels like he's responsible for everything that goes wrong in his life and wants to make it right, but it's not working." He laid his head back, looking up at Puck. "Do you think that could be true?"

The mohawked man chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, debating the option. "I guess? His dad's still unemployed, right? And it's not like he's at the top of his classes at school…"

"True," Blaine assented, "but could that be it?"

"How the hell should I know?" Puck shrugged, starting to feel slightly uncomfortable. Blaine's question had made him feel partly responsible for Sam's troubles, especially if his answers would become reality.

Blaine scratched his head, figuring neither him nor Puck could make the situation any clearer. The only person who could actually do that was Sam, but if Blaine was being really honest with himself, he wasn't sure if the blond wouldn't lie to them.

"Everyone deals differently with stuff," Puck suddenly stated. He had referred to himself when he had said it, realizing that Sam hadn't started drinking because of his problem, but that Puck had.

"So…what could be less of a big deal to us could be ground-breaking for Sam?" Blaine asked for confirmation.

"Yup."

"That makes sense," Blaine decided, showing Noah a proud smile, who on his turn pretended like he hadn't seen it.

"So what's the plan, Anderson?" Puck then wondered out loud, glaring expectedly at the curly haired boy.

Blaine rubbed his face, groaning softly. "Okay, so if we assume – because we still don't know if it's true – that Sam feels like he's out of control…" He crooked his neck. "Then we should give him some stability."

"How?"

"I don't know. What makes you feel stable?"

Puck snorted. "Do I ever look unstable?"

Blaine upped an eyebrow at that comment, reminding the older one of the incident with the smashed beer bottle earlier that evening.

"Oh, for fuck sake," Puck whined, "I apologized, didn't I? Leave me alone."

His friend only let his forehead fall forward more, deepening his judging look.

"Whatever," Noah said, rolling his eyes, "I guess...I think…you guys make me feel…stable?" It sounded hesitative.

Blaine couldn't help but grin a little. "Relax, Noah. I feel the same way, so you shouldn't feel embarrassed."

"I'm not emba-"

"But I think the moment I feel _most_ stable is..." Blaine continued, interrupting and ignoring the other's sentence, "...when I feel confident that I'm helping one of you guys…"

Puck nodded, visibly relieved that his friend said that. It made him feel less self-conscious and weird about it.

"…And when we cuddle."

Noah choked out a laugh. "You're pathetic."

"Oh, please, you know you like i-"

"Shut up."

Blaine grinned, knowing that he was right about his unfinished statement, before he got back to the subject. "Why don't we sleep on it for a night?" he offered, stretching his arms, "It's late, so we're most likely not going to come up with a plan tonight anyway."

"Let it sink in," Puck jokingly said in a wise voice. His friend nodded, making Puck smirk. "You know that's also the thing I always say to the person I'm about to fu-"

"Noah!"

In the meantime, Sam had been sound asleep. Given the drained state of his body, he had to admit that he found himself taking off to dreamland way quicker than before. He almost appeared to be in a coma, his entire being relaxed as he was lying on his back. His chest rose and lowered slowly, arms on either side of him on top of the covers. Little pearls of sweat were forming underneath the strands of blond on his forehead, his cheeks changing to an even lighter shade of white. A shiver went down his spine, causing him to spasm and sigh; his closed lips opening to allow the air out. His stomach growled before it churned, leading to Sam turning onto his side, his body shifting into a ninety degree angle as he absentmindedly tried to nuzzle into himself. His eyes screwed tighter for a second as his facial expression twisted into a grimace. His calves cramped up when he started trembling, his hands clenching his Star Wars sheets. He swung his head to the side in a sleepy reflex, the corners of his mouth pulled downwards.

In the early morning, he awoke with the same shock as Puck did; eyes opening wide and catching a breath.

"Noah…? What's wrong…?" Blaine's soothing voice sounded through the bedroom, one eye cracked open lightly.

Puck shook his head, rubbing his temples as he did so. "Nothing, just a nightmare," he answered, dropping himself back down onto the pillow with a deep sigh.

Sam exclaimed an upset groan. His head was throbbing and he felt like he had been sleeping on the ice of the North Pole. Great, now he had gotten sick too. Looking at his alarm, it showed that he had to get up in fifteen minutes to get ready for school. His mom probably wouldn't let him, but he couldn't afford not to go. He needed every class as much as the other if he still wanted to graduate in a few months, so staying at home was definitely not an option. After he had figured that a shower would maybe make him feel better, he dragged himself out of bed and towards the bathroom. He didn't bother to look in the mirror, already knowing that he looked like a homeless person anyway.

Twenty minutes later than normally he got downstairs, the usual morning affairs already sounding from the kitchen.

"Stevie, sit down and eat your cereal! Stacey, sweetie, you know the rules; no dolls on the table…oh, morning, Sammy," Mrs. Evans smiled at her son, pressing a kiss onto his cheek. As she did so, she frowned, examining him with her motherly eyes. "You're boiling hot. Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," Sam waved her concerns away reflexively. It was becoming his motto, it almost seemed.

"Stacey. Put. It. Away." His mom had already been distracted again by trying to get some order around the kitchen table.

Sam pursed his lips inwards, deciding that he should eat something. The one time he had fainted had scared him a lot, so he sure didn't want that to happen again. He took an apple from the fruit bowl, figuring he might just need a vitamin boost. He ate it while he discussed his dad's new job. Apparently it had gone well up until then, but he wasn't earning enough to pay all their bills. Sam finished his fruit, chewing on his bottom lip before he offered to help out again. Obviously, his mother immediately mingled herself into their conversation and objected. Not that it was needed, because his father didn't agree either anyway.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea washed over the teenager, causing him to stand up. "I gotta go, Blaine'll be here any minute," he announced rapidly, grabbing his bag from the counter before he walked into the hallway. Once there, he coughed, quickly opening the door to the toilet. He had been just in time, because as soon as his knees hit the tiles, he started throwing up. Sam noticed that the burning sensation didn't hurt as much as it had been in the past, which was sort of relieving, but also scary. The guy knew it was wrong, but his mind just couldn't think straight. The wrong things would always end up feeling right and it didn't make sense. He wasn't _that _stupid.

Thanking every God there possibly was that his parents hadn't heard him, he stepped out on the porch, spotting a familiar car had already pulled up.

Blaine shot a quick wave at Sam through the window, instantly feeling guilty when he laid eyes on him. He didn't want to get into the details, so the only thing that went through his mind was the realization of how weak his friend looked. He used to be cheery and so easily excited, but all of that seemed to have wasted away. It was a shame and it made Blaine's stomach painfully knot together with sympathy. Surely, he was hoping that the plan he and Puck had concocted would work.

"Blainers," Sam greeted his friend when he opened the door, throwing his backpack onto the backseat before he settled in the passenger's one.

"Good morning, Samuel. How are you today?" Blaine asked as he always did. It was ironic how it had become a saying; something common in their opening conversation. But now he actually wanted to know.

Sam's answer had been unsurprising and expected.

"Are you?" Blaine asked unsurely.

"Yes, Blaine," Sam replied, yet annoyed. He already had enough to deal with that morning; reassuring his friend couldn't add to that, he felt.

"Okay, sorry," the one with the curly hair apologized uncomfortably.

"You don't have to say sorry every time," Sam mumbled with a neutral voice, staring out of the window.

Blaine huffed out a silent breath, trying to settle himself down and think of that afternoon. Everything would be alright, just a couple more hours and then things would get better. They just had to.

The rest of the day at school had been hard for Sam. He hadn't eaten anything during lunch and given his sudden vomiting from that morning, his body had been practically living on noting. During his last class, when the blond thought matters couldn't get any worse, they did. His fever got worse and he could barely hold his head up. His vision had been blurry for about half an hour up until the point where he couldn't even see the writings on the board anymore.

"Can I be excused?" he asked after he had suddenly stood up, rudely interrupting the teacher's lecture.

The middle aged man blinked a couple of times in surprise before answering. "Yes, Mr. Evans, you may." He had already figured that the teenager wasn't feeling well, so his sense of morality got the better of him. "Get home safely," he said, handing Sam the note that would allow him to be absent without any consequences.

When the blond had left the classroom, Puck parked his truck in the lot, a nervous Blaine already pacing up to him.

"You're late, Noah, what took you so long?" he asked, punching the guy's upper arm when he got out of the vehicle.

"Dude, calm your fucking manboobs," Puck grumbled in defense, "we've got plenty of time, besides, I was showering and I got occupied."

Blaine showed him a disgusted look, but couldn't help but feel something sparkle up somewhere inside of him. "I hope you cleaned up afterwards."

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't," Puck teased as a devious smirk covered his lips.

His friend shook his head in disappointment, but decided to get back to business. "Okay, so you know what you've got to say, right?"

"I do."

"And when to say it?"

"Yup."

"And how you should-"

"For Christ sake, Anderson, I'm not a moron," Puck cut him off, irritated.

"I know, I know…" Blaine sighed, trying to relax himself, "I'm just scared it won't work, you know? I feel so bad for him…"

Puck's jawline softened and he laid a hand on Blaine's shoulder. "Dude, don't worry. It's gonna work. I promise."

Blaine nodded slowly, looking intently into Noah's eyes, searching for something to hold onto.

"Showtime," Puck suddenly announced when he noticed a blond haired guy had come out of the school.

"Weird…his class hasn't finished yet," Blaine thought out loud, already getting suspicious.

Sam didn't even notice his friends in the distance; he had been too busy with trying not to freak out. His legs felt like some liquid substance and he had been panting ever since he had started walking. He felt sick to his stomach again and his chest appeared to be getting tighter around his lungs. All of those symptoms had been way too familiar to him and he swore he had never felt as anxious before.

"Please, not again," he whispered, fear caught in his voice, "Not again. Not again."

Black spots started to form before his eyes, causing a lump to form in his throat. Once more he pleaded, but then he felt his muscles give in, the only supports that were making sure that he wouldn't implode were the bones under his skin. His mind had already been switched off when his exhausted and sick body hit the pavement.

"Holy shit," Puck exclaimed as he watched his friend collapse onto the ground. He didn't hesitate, making a sprint for it as fast as his feet could manage.

"Oh my God…" Blaine whispered before he was on Noah's heels.

Puck was the first to crash next to Sam, placing a hand onto his chest to make sure that he wasn't…

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," Blaine kept repeating himself as he panted. "Noah! Noah, do something!" he cried out helplessly; any logical conclusion had faded from his brain.

"What am I supposed to do?! Just call a fucking ambulance!" Puck yelled back at Blaine, unable to not act on his impulses.

Blaine quickly obliged, fishing his mobile out of his jeans. "Hello? 911? I need an ambulance at McKinley High School, my friend just collapsed and we think he's…" He wasn't able to finish his sentence, a sob escaping his throat. "...Please, hurry."

"Blaine! Sit the fuck down and put your hand here," Puck indicated fiercely, yanking to guy to the ground when he had hung up and placing his hand on Sam's heart. Feeling the beating of it relaxed Blaine, exhaling a shaky breath. Still, he looked at Puck with tears in his eyes, but he was only clenching his jaw to keep himself together, all the while staring at his friend on the floor.

The ambulance had arrived soon afterwards and so had more of the McKinley High students. Gossips were voiced in judging whispers by people who made up stories about what had happened. Puck and Blaine had ignored them the whole time. When the vehicle left with roaring sirens, the two friends didn't need to exchange words in order to know they were going after it. The youngest of them had still been in shock, so they went with Puck's truck.

The ride had been spent in silence until Blaine couldn't restrain himself any longer. "Noah?" he asked softly.

Puck hummed in question, making Blaine think his jaw had been actually screwed shut.

"I'm scared…" Blaine admitted, barely audible.

"All is going to be fine," Puck assured him in a grumble.

Somehow, hearing him say that helped Blaine, but it was obvious that Noah wasn't feeling it himself. All of his muscles were tensed up and he appeared to be on his guard, as if right before a heavy storm.

Luckily, Lima's hospital wasn't that far and while Puck and Blaine made their way to the waiting room, an unconscious Sam went in the back of the building.

"Should we call his parents?" Blaine asked as he paced up and down the room.

"They've probably already done that," Puck answered rationally, the front of his foot nervously tapping the floor.

"Well, where are they then? Shouldn't they be here?" Blaine continued helplessly.

"Dude, they're probably on their way."

"What do you think happened?"

Puck sighed. "I don't know, man, he was probably tired or something."

"How can you be so casual about this?!" Blaine suddenly burst, frowning un-understandingly at his friend.

"Because at least one of us has to be, you asshole," Puck instantly bit back. He was damned if he was going to be accused for not caring. For fuck sake, next to Blaine, Sam was his best friend. He cared the God forsaken world for him. Oh, what the hell, he even fucking _loved_ him.

"But what if he doesn't make it?! What if, like, his body is just…done? What if one of his organs doesn't function anymore? What if he has _starved_ himself?!" Blaine went on, "Did you know that an eating disorder can actually end up paralyzing you? Or cause memory loss? What if Sam doesn't know who he is anymore? Or what if he hit his head when he fainted?!" The boy had obviously lost it, summing up every possible bad ending there was.

That was when Puck stood up from his seat and walked over to Blaine. Without saying anything, he caught him by both his shoulders, looking down at him with a confident and stern look. His hands moved done a bit, then across his back and he pulled. His friend let himself be pushed against Noah's broad chest, tears dampening the shirt he had been wearing, quietly.

* * *

**Author's note: **Thank you _so _much for the reviews and your thoughts! I really love reading them and it's satisfying to know that you guys are open to a possible OT3. Keep 'm up! Your critical perspectives are refreshing and I learn a lot from them.


	15. One, Two, Three

_Chapter fourteen_

"Your friend's awake and stable."

Never had so much air left two sets of lungs.

"Can we go see him?" Blaine immediately asked after he had sucked in a breath again. Puck's arm was still resting around his chest, making sure that he wouldn't make any inappropriate, sudden or even dangerous – because hell, he had never seen the guy so tense - movements.

It had been a wise decision.

"You may, but first you've got to identify him, so that we can inform his parents," the doctor answered.

"You haven't called his parents yet?!" Blaine exploded, Puck instantly clenching the muscles in his arm to keep the boy in his place.

"No. Since we couldn't diagnose what was wrong with him first hand, we needed to examine him first to make sure he wasn't in any critical danger. We didn't have the time to identify him."

Puck could feel how the shorter one settled down a little, loosening his embrace slightly.

"So which room is he in, doc'?" he asked quickly, not allowing Blaine to continue his rant even if he wanted to.

"2.71," the man in the white coat answered.

The two friends didn't even thank him; they just turned around into the corridor.

"His name is Samuel Evans," Blaine explained before the door to the hallway closed.

He and Puck searched the numbers next to the doors. Blaine sniffed, scrunching up his nose when the familiar hospital scent infiltrated his nose again. He was convinced that they had some sort of special air freshener for it, just to make it smell that way. It disgusted him, especially since it would now probably always remind him of his friend being there.

"It's here," Puck said when Blaine had held his pace for a moment.

Blaine turned around, his hand already reaching for the handle. Puck frowned and quickly grabbed it. Electricity went through the smaller one's body and he mentally kicked himself for it. Now wasn't the time to suddenly feel those sorts of things; it made him feel somewhat inappropriate and rude.

"Dude, don't you need some, like, mind set or something? The sight might not be pretty," Puck reminded his friend, a stern and serious look on his face.

Blaine shrugged; he was tired of being held up. He had waited long enough to get near to Sam and his guilt had only grown ever since he got to the hospital. "No, I don't. I'd like to be confronted with the truth and face it head on."

Puck's frown deepened in confusion. "What do you mean…? You're sounding different, bro."

"It's our fault Samuel's now laying inside this room, Noah," Blaine answered without much emotion in his voice; they had been shut down in defence.

"The hell it's not," Puck scowled, "the asshole lied to us. He should be glad I won't punch him in the face for it."

"I lied when I told you guys I was doing okay when you asked me," Blaine fired back with upped eyebrows, "you didn't punch me."

Puck narrowed his eyes at him, sighing. "Fine, you're right. I won't punch him," he forfeited from the conversation, "but, dude…I don't know how to deal with this stuff, y'know?"

Blaine visibly relaxed when the mohawked man admitted that, his sympathy unwinding him. "Noah, you do. You've dealt with it pretty well," he said, referring to the whole extravaganza when Sam had collapsed right in front of the school and Puck had seemed exactly to know what to do.

"The only thing I've done is get angry with him," Noah went against his friend's statement, "Remember when we caught him barfing?"

"Have you forgotten how well you did earlier today? At school?" Blaine simply fired back.

Puck's facial expression twisted into something that could only be described as realization. He nodded in acceptance, figuring that maybe not always, but most of the time he would be able to rely on his instincts. "Let's go in," he said with his old, profound confidence. Blaine nodded affirmatively, ready to be faced with the truth.

But that didn't mean it didn't fall hard on him. His friend looked awful; broken; exhausted. Blaine's throat closed up and he shot a look at Noah, who just nodded and wrapped and arm around his shoulders. Normally, Blaine would've felt bad for someone trying to be strong for him, but in that moment he appreciated it. He couldn't help but blame himself for Sam's position and he regretted that he hadn't done anything sooner. He had been too late.

Puck brushed his thumb over the shorter one's shirt repeatedly as he made sure not to let go of him. His jaw was once again screwed shut, for he was scared of choking out a sob, one he couldn't afford himself. Blaine needed him and so did Sam, so he would be damned if he was going to show how much it hurt him. Others probably would've judged him and accused him of not caring, but he knew his two best friends would see right through him. He didn't have anything to prove with them and they seemed to be the only ones who really understood him. They knew he wasn't a guy who was keen on voicing or showing his emotions often, but at least with them he didn't get blamed for it.

The sound of footsteps infiltrated Sam's ears and awoke his mind. For a split moment he freaked out, wondering where he was and why he couldn't move himself. His limbs felt like they were paralyzed and even his eyelids seemed too heavy to lift. His head was throbbing and his stomach just felt empty; like, as if literally nothing was inside of his body, not even organs. He puffed out a breath, making his plump and dry lips part.

"Sam?" Blaine asked, kind of surprised, but also relieved. Even though the doctor had told him that his friend was fine, he had seemed more dead than alive in that hospital bed.

The blond groaned in response, not really feeling like talking. For one he was tired, but as a second he expected his friends to be mad at him. His lies had worn off and truth had crashed upon him; literally smashed him right into the surface.

"How are you feeling, man?" Puck asked, standing on the bedside, his arm still draped around Blaine.

"Tired," Sam mustered to answer, another deep breath slipping past his lips.

"You scared us…" Blaine admitted weakly, not really knowing what else to say.

The muscles around Sam's mouth tensed, making his corners being pulled down into a sad expression. "I'm sorry," he whispered, a sudden urge overcoming him and making him open his eyes slightly. He even turned his head so that he could see his friends. But it didn't do him any good, because the looks on their faces were worse than he had expected. They showed compassion and hurt and Sam had never thought that he would now want them to be just angry and upset instead. Because in comparison, that's what it would feel like: 'just' anger. "I'm sorry," he repeated himself again, his front teeth catching his bottom lip, "really."

Blaine sucked in a trembling breath, letting Puck know that whatever his friend was thinking about saying would only make matters worse. "Save it, asshole," he said, a faked grin on his face, "I think you need your energy for other stuff."

Sam smiled ever so slightly, glad that Puck gave him what he had wanted. It made the whole situation seem less heavy and gave him a feeling like he could deal with it. Anger would subside easily, guilt wouldn't; he knew that from experience. With every inch of his being, he searched for lost fractions of energy, which he could channel into voicing one question.

"I know…we're not allowed to ask…" he breathed out, "…but-"

"Don't…" Puck warned.

"Of course!" Blaine interrupted, already walking over to the other side of the bed.

The acreage was way too small, but they knew by now that desperate times call for desperate measures. Each had their own things going on, but they were basically all experiencing the same feelings – guilt and regret – they closed into each other. Both Blaine and Puck found a position in which they could lie down to show the support for their friend. They needed to be a circle again, for they didn't know what to say or act like. They had learned that at certain moments, words were invalid, because timing proved to be everything. Blaine could've come up with ideas on how to help Sam, Puck could've gone on a rant and Sam could've cried out all of his helplessness, but it wouldn't have made a difference, because of neither of them was in the right place to do anything. Their actions would only make things worse and push them away from each other. People who had lost their ways would always want help, but sometimes it's just simply easier and better to intertwine their broken roads and create one that's complete, even though that means you'll have to walk it together. And this case their friendship was their salvation. A simple one, two, three, where one ended up in an accident, two felt guilty about it, but three created a pattern – a path.

"Oh, dear God," a woman's voice suddenly sounded through the room.

The three boys looked up, instantly uncomfortable since they had been caught in their display of affection. Blaine and Puck scooted off the bed; Blaine's cheeks colouring a bright red while Puck managed to quickly regain his composure. "I think we should go," he said to the youngest one.

The one who was spoken to nodded before looking at each of Sam's parents. His mother looked devastated, while his father was obviously still trying to get a grasp on what had happened.

"We'll be back later," Blaine assured Sam with a reassuring look in his eyes.

"We're sorry," Noah apologized to Mr. and Mrs. Evans in the meantime. He chewed on the insides of his cheeks, not knowing what else to tell them. The fuck, what do you say to two people who have just been confronted by their son lying in a hospital bed? Probably fucking nothing.

Blaine's facial expression showed every possible ounce of warm-heartedness he had inside of him before he walked past the Evans', following Puck outside, leaving Sam to the most uncomfortable and hardest talks in his life.

But it had been good for him. When you know you've hit rock bottom, you don't really care anymore. You've got nothing left to lose. So Sam allowed himself to break down one more time. He let go and spilled his guts even though the hurtful looks in his parents' eyes were dealing him a great pain. It had to be done, he knew. There wasn't any way he could get out of this one and for once, he didn't even want to try. His body was exhausted and he himself was tired.

Sam's story fell hard on Dwight and Mary Evans. Obviously, they blamed themself for what had happened, which had been kind of legit. Luckily, Sam's dad's job had been going well, so their future was looking a little brighter, which took away some of their son's stress. Mrs. Evans kept going over how sorry she was for not noticing a thing about the teenager's well-being. She had been too busy herself with the twins, their bills and the household altogether, but it just came out like a lame excuse when she voiced it.

Obviously, they made Sam vow that he would start eating normally again. The blond had agreed, but was upset over the easiness their words were coated in. Somehow he knew that it would be easier said than done, since his disorder was about a sense of control on his life, not about the eating itself.

When visiting hours had finally been over; Sam had managed to convince his family to go home. He needed to sleep and he wanted to be alone for a while, for he still had to process everything that had happened himself. Actually, it had been a miracle that he had been able to explain all of it immediately. Then again, it did show that really did know he had crashed.

So while Sam's eyes closed, Blaine's spread open widely.

"Why don't we go through with the plan anyway?" he offered in a sudden clear perspective.

Puck had quickly hidden his flask under his leg again, safely out of his friend's sight, even though he felt like he had a good reason for drinking. "What plan?" he asked bluntly.

Blaine frowned at Noah's forgetfulness. "The plan to help Samuel," he reminded him, "you know, with the cooking and stuff."

The mohawked man mentally slapped himself when he remembered. "I don't know, man…" he replied hesitatingly, "I mean, you don't know what's gonna happen now. Maybe his parents will, like, ground him or something."

The younger one's face fell slightly, he hadn't thought of Sam's parents being involved now. "But we can help him…"

"…Or we've been too late in their eyes, too," Puck responded realistically.

Blaine looked away sadly. "They won't think that. They're really nice and hospitable people," he stood by his opinion.

"Well yeah, I know that too, dude, but still. Shit like this does stuff to people and you don't know how it'll change them."

The Anderson fell silent, surprised by Puck's wise words again, which had seemed to be happening a lot lately.

"I guess we'll see about that," he then agreed, "but that doesn't mean we won't try, right?"

"Duh," Puck frowned in an obvious way, "We're gonna do everything to help him, smartass."

* * *

**Author's note: **Whoop, I graduated! I'm out of school's shit forever, which means more time to write. :3 I hope you liked this chapter! The following one is already in the making. Don't forget to review!


	16. Unwanted Decisions

_Chapter fifteen_

A weird smell infiltrated Puck's nose, right before a loud thud woke him up. Opening his eyes, he recognized the dark contours of his bedroom walls. He took in a sharp, high pitched breath, which somehow sounded odd and familiar at the same time. Vague sounds permeated his ears again and he wasn't even surprised before he started feeling scared. He got out of his bed, which suddenly seemed higher. Come to think of it, all the furniture in his room had suddenly grown. He frowned at it, sliding a hand through his hair. His eyebrows knitted together even tighter when he didn't feel his Mohawk, but a whole bunch of hair. Puffing out a trembling breath, his ears focused on another shout. It drew his gaze to the door, and he cautiously walked towards it, opening it softly, blinded by the ray of light that came from the hallway for a second. When his pupils had adjusted, he looked down at his pyjamas. He wrinkled his bare toes before he started moving towards the stairs. A fierce whisper hit his mind and his irises grew in width. Black shadows were painted on the white walls of the hall on the ground floor and he tried to make out what they were, but failed. Suddenly, the noises died and Puck bent down a little, hoping to catch one of them again. However, the house stayed silent for a full minute. Sixty seconds in where the male's stomach was now laying on the carpet, his head down into the hole that was created by the staircase.

Then a scream hit his eardrums, making him flinch. Loud footsteps quickly got closer and raced towards him. Puck let out a whimper and scrambled up on his feet as fast as he could. The banging was now right behind him and when he felt a hand on his collar he slammed his bedroom door shut. Quickly, he got into his closet, sitting down in the pile of his clothes as he held his breath. He was trembling all over and his lungs were hurting from the fast movements. His heart bounced loudly in his chest, so much so that he wanted to rip it out, for fear of being found. A whimper escaped his mouth when light suddenly appeared and beamed into his eyes. A weird smell infiltrated his nose, right before a loud thud woke him up.

"Noah? Noah, are you okay?!"

Puck was panting while he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He looked around the room, taking in the surroundings that he recognized as Blaine's bedroom. "Yeah…nightmare…" he answered absentmindedly.

"Again?" Blaine asked worriedly, examining his friend – who lay back down – in the dark.

His friend nodded, not really paying attention to him as he tried to revisit his dream. They were so vivid, yet they didn't make sense to him, which should've been normal, because aren't dreams always weird?

"Are you sure you're alright?" the curly haired boy asked, searching for reassurance as he rubbed Puck's bicep.

"Yeah, 'm alright," the older one confirmed, drawing the covers back up over his chest, "Like I said, it was just a nightmare."

"Yes, I know, but you've been having a lot of those, haven't you?" Blaine was still concerned.

"Calm down, Anderson. All's good," Puck grumbled, finding the guy's shoulder and nudging it playfully.

"I can't stop thinking about Samuel," Blaine broke the silence that had fallen.

Puck nodded, humming to let him know that he was listening.

"I keep thinking that we could've prevented it…"

"Blaine," Puck whined softly, "dude, we've been over this. It's not your fault. Not mine either. He did it to himself, because of…well, reasons."

"I know, but still I-"

"Seriously," Puck sat up slightly, gripping the guy's shoulder, "you gotta stop doing this to yourself. Like, for real y'know. It's not gonna help and it's not gonna change anything. He's in the hospital and that sucks, but that's how things are right now."

Blaine bit his bottom lip, nodding quietly.

"We'll go visit him first thing tomorrow and then after school, okay?" Puck reassured him, absentmindedly massaging his friend's neck.

"Okay," Blaine answered silently, puffing out a deep breath.

"Good, now go back to sleep."

"I will…but, err…can I just…?" he sounded unsure.

Puck groaned, wrapping his arms around Blaine. "Stop asking for it."

When the first rays of sunlight hit the surfaces of the Earth, Sam woke up. The golden glow that coated his room made his hair fade away, but returned some colour back to his face. He sighed at the pale furniture in the hospital room, wondering how long he was going to be there and what would happen when he got out. Knowing his over-concerned parents, he wouldn't be surprised if they would send him to a clinic and lock him up. The idea that he would be under constant supervision probably seemed soothing to them, but to Sam the foresight was pure hell. He would definitely end up feeling like more of a psycho than he already was.

He didn't know how long he had been staring into the nothingness in front of him, overthinking the worst future perspectives, until the door cracked open.

Noticing his friends instantly had a positive effect on the comic freak's mood and he flashed the two a weak smile. "Hey…it's not visiting hours, is it…?"

"Nope, we sneaked in," Puck answered with a clear sense of pride, a judgmental looking Blaine behind him.

"Shush, don't be so loud. If they catch us we probably…"

"…Have to break in every time?" the mohawked man finished his sentence with a smirk.

Blaine sighed and shook his head. He walked over to Sam's bed, sitting on the side of it as he looked at him. A sense of joy overtook him, even made him blush when his friend looked back into his eyes, but he quickly pulled himself together again. "We wanted to bring you something, but we weren't sure what, because, you know, usually you bring food to a patient, because…you know, because…because hospital food sucks, but in this case it's different, so…"

"…We brought you the newest Avengers comic," Puck once again put an end to Blaine's stammering.

Sam's smile brightened upon hearing that, the blond sitting up a little. "You did?" he asked as he watched Blaine get it out of his shoulder bag, "that's so cool, thanks!"

A little blown away by the excitement he had missed so much, the Anderson handed him the book. The blond gladly took it, leafing through it for a moment before he thankfully grinned at his friends again. "Really, thanks. This is sweet of you guys."

Blaine blushed, fumbling with Sam's sheets and Puck awkwardly looked away before he faked a cough. "Of course, dude, no problem."

"So…did you tell your parents yesterday?" Blaine didn't want to kill the jovial atmosphere, but he had to know.

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah…they took it kinda hard, but I guess that's logical, right?" He looked up, showing a lopsided smile. "My mom has apologized a hundred times and my dad just kept on telling me that everything was going well."

"Did they say what's gonna, like…happen?" Puck asked, frowning at his own choice of words.

"No…we haven't really talked about that yet…" Sam answered truthfully, "…but I'm guessing there's gonna be _something_."

"Like what?" Blaine whispered, already sounding worried.

Sam sighed, debating if he should tell his friends about all the options he had just been considering that morning, but decided he didn't want to worry them any more. "No idea." He shrugged. "It'll be alright, though."

His friends nodded in union, Puck being the one who wanted to skip onto another subject.

"So what's the issue about?" he asked, pointing towards the comic he and Blaine had brought. He knew his friend well, because Sam instantly went on rambling about adventures, characters and possible plots.

Still, Sam's enthusiastic babbling couldn't distract him from his thoughts, which were trailing off to his of lately reoccurring nightmares. The badass never really believed in deeper meaning behind simple things. Even though he identified as a Jew, he saw things the way they were. Events happened because they did, because of choices that he would make and not because of some destiny or God.

So it was exceptional that he was feeling like his nightmares were trying to tell him something. He tried to remember certain big elements from the images and look for symbolism. First of all there had been the weird smell and the loud noises that had been there in every one of them. In his last one, though, he was hiding in a closet. Snorting at the saying about gay people, he looked to each of his friends. Then, realization slowly dawned on him when he thought that maybe 'being in the closet' wasn't so ridiculous or funny after all. His eyebrows furrowed into confusion and a, slightly disgusted, shock. Was he…? Nah, he couldn't be. No, he definitely wasn't gay. Sure, he had watched gay porn sometimes and even gotten a blowjob from some dude in a bar once, but that didn't indicate his sexuality. Hell, he liked to think of himself as all kinds of sexual. Besides, he didn't do love, so it didn't matter anyway. It was out of the question and unimportant.

He got pulled out of his thoughts when the door of Sam's room opened and Mr. and Mrs. Evans appeared behind it. For the second time in a row they had managed to catch the three boys in the middle of their cosiness. And again this resulted in an awkward atmosphere in which Blaine and Puck wanted to slip out of the room as quickly as possible.

Which they did.

"Morning, Sammy, how are you feeling?" Mary asked when Sam's friends had left the room. She walked up to her son, taking his chin into her hand to roll around his head, as if overly concernedly examining him now would make up for her blindness in the past.

"I'm okay," Sam answered, more as a habit than as truth.

His mother hummed something in response, checking his temperature with the back of her hand flat across his forehead. "Your fever seems to have decreased," she stated, obviously wanting to ignore the fact that Sam was in the hospital and that that diagnosis had already been written on the clipboard that was hanging against the back of Sam's bed.

"That's what the nurse said, too," the teenager replied with a shrug. "She also said that I should be starting to feel hungry, but I'm not at all, yet."

He watched his mom's face fall a little before she turned to his dad. Something changed in their appearance and it alerted Sam. "What?" he asked, shifting his gaze from one to the other.

Dwight breathed a heavy sigh, letting his son know that a difficult subject was about to be brought up. Sam sat up more, preparing himself for what was about to come, while his dad settled himself on the edge of his bed. "No one's dead, right?" Sam asked for reassurance. A small amount of panic had crept into his voice.

"No, sweetie, everything's fine," his mother answered with one of her comforting smiles.

"Your mother and I have been talking last night," his dad then spoke up, "you know how much you scared us with all of this…"

"I know, dad," Sam apologized again, "I'm sorry. I know I handled everything the wrong way, but it just…it sort of…happened, you know? As if my life has been a blur for the past few months."

"…Which is why we've also been talking to a couple of doctors this morning," Dwight continued his story. "We've spoken about some options on how to help you and your mother and I actually fully agreed on one thing." He sighed again, taking a moment of silence.

Sam frowned and averted his look to his mother, questioning her non-verbally until he saw the shimmer of tears in the corners of her emerald eyes. It made his dad's sentence fall a little less hard on him, because he already had a feeling of what he was about to say. "No…" he whispered in a failed attempt at defence.

"There's this clinic uptown that deals with teenagers who are suffering from an eating disorder. The doctors have told us that their treatments have been proven to be successful up until now. We realize that, by this, we're pulling you out of your life for a certain period of time, but we believe that will also do a lot of good for you."

"But dad…" Sam tried to interrupt, even though he didn't really know what to say. He didn't have to, because his father continued talking, for he was already feeling guilty enough.

"Son, consider it for a moment. You've been under so much stress lately, it almost tore you apart. Think about how relieved you will feel when you're away from that all. You can relax and focus on getting better," his dad reasoned. "It'll kind of be like a small vacation if you think about it," he tried to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, except I will be feeling like a total psycho and will constantly be reminded that I'm some sick person," Sam mumbled in disappointment.

"You're not sick," his mom responded quickly, taking one of his hands in hers, "you're just going through a hard time."

The blond looked up at her; hurt and betrayed. "I wanna go through it with my friends, though."

"I know, sweetie, but they can't keep an eye on you forever. At the clinic, you will have constant supervision," Mary explained. "That thought will help us sleep at night, too."

"Oh, so now you're saying that you're just sending me away, because you can't deal with me?!" Sam accused her, his voice picking up volume.

Something his dad wouldn't allow.

"No, Samuel, we can't deal with you," he interfered with a stern look on his face, "we don't know _how_ to deal with you. And you can't blame us for that. An eating disorder is something difficult and often misunderstood. We're just simple people, not psychologists. We're not experienced or knowledgeable enough to handle it."

"Well, you might be simple people, but you're still my parents," Sam grumbled, offended.

"Which is exactly why we're making this decision. Don't forget that we take this hard, too. It's not easy to send your kid off to a place where you know they treat disorders."

The comic freak shook his head in disbelief, trying to figure out the patterns on his sheets. "Whatever…" he muttered, knowing he had lost the argument.

* * *

**Author's note: **I'm on fire! I totally have the story figured out till the end. In a couple of chapters, I will explain Puck's dream in an author's note. Or have you guys already figured out the symbolism? Thank you for reading again and remember what your reviews do to me. :3


	17. Adapting Personalities

_Chapter sixteen_

Two phones beeped at the exact same time in Lima, Ohio. Maybe in different places, but the message and response had been the same. Blaine smiled at his screen empathetically, letting Sam know that he would come to the hospital as soon as his last class would finish. Puck grumbled at his device, not bothering to send anything back, as he almost instantaneously made his way out of the Anderson mansion and into his truck. His best friend's request to come over had been simple, but something in Puck's gut was telling him something was off. An unusual feeling, since he still believed sternly that there was no such thing as a sixth sense. It was the same as the symbolism that was represented in his dreams; recognized, but denied.

It didn't take the admittedly quite irresponsible driver too long to get to the hospital. He cursed the many cars in the parking lot for leaving him with no choice but to park at a spot far from the entrance. In a jog, he hurried inside, heading for the floor Sam's room was on. Eying the lady behind the reception sneakily from around the corner, he passed her unnoticed, knowing it wasn't visiting hours just yet. The small criminal act caused adrenaline to flow through his veins, giving him a slightly proud feeling, which remained even when he saw his friend.

"Hey bro, what's up?" he asked, walking over to his bed casually, hands jammed into his pockets; the alerted feeling he was having earlier completely forgotten.

Sam looked up from his comic, a flash of surprise twisting its way into his facial expression, because Puck hadn't replied to his text, but was now in his presence. The semblance faded quickly, though, when he realized this was Noah Puckerman; the unpredictable badass.

"Oh, yeah," the blond spoke, voicing his remembrance, before he corrected himself by clearing his throat, "hi, man, I was just reading the comic you guys gave me." He smiled sincerely, not realizing that his friend was referring to something else.

"Yes, I can see that, you idiot," Puck sighed, irritated, taking hold of the end of Sam's bed, leaning his upper body onto his broad arms, "I meant what's up as in, why did you want me to come?"

"Oh…" Sam whispered, a gentle blush colouring his cheeks, "well, shouldn't we wait for Blaine, too?"

Puck frowned at him. "You better tell me now. I didn't come rushing for nothing." Not that he didn't have anything better to do, but his friend didn't need to know about that.

Sam let out a deep sigh, putting the comic book aside and sitting up a little, his back resting against the two pillows. "I, err…I spoke to my parents this morning," the blond spoke up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, "they, err…had an interesting idea…I guess." He licked his dried out lips, not daring to look at Puck. Knowing his friend was all about realism, Sam was aware that he wasn't going to like Puck's reaction to what he was about to tell him. "Look…there's really no easy way to say this…"

"So just say it, Jesus Christ," Puck interrupted impatiently, "I don't have all day." Although he did. For a second, he swore he saw Sam cringe, which instantly made him feel guilty for his quasi uncaring appearance. He didn't mean to come across like that, he really didn't, but the subconscious feeling of something bad about to happen was affecting him.

"My parents are sending me to this treatment centre uptown," Sam sighed, swallowing before he added, "I'm going there as soon as I get out of here."

Puck's jaw was screwed shut, something always happened when he was tense. He glared at Sam, inaudibly wondering if the guy was for real or not. However, the sad facial expression the blond was displaying showed so much genuine hurt that Puck knew this was actually happening.

"Well, when may you leave this rat-hole?" he asked, already wanting to punch himself in the face for saying something that inconsiderate. Hell, he knew that wasn't the point right now, but what the fuck was he supposed to say?

"Day after tomorrow," Sam answered quietly, watching his fingers as they nervously fumbled with each other.

"And how long do you have to stay there?" Puck responded, thoughts running rife through his head. Y_ou're getting better and better at this, asshole._

"Could be three months, could be a year, could be longer. It depends on how quickly I get better." Sam had said the last word with a small motion of his two fingers, trying to emphasise the sarcasm in his statement. He had still been trying to fight the fact that he was sick.

Puck nodded, a little short of words. His mind was racing, mostly with angry thoughts, but none of them were going to change the current situation, so he decided to not say anything at all…which happened to be the exact opposite of what Sam wanted.

"Please, say something?" he asked helplessly.

"Blaine's gonna be devastated."

Sam rolled his eyes, offended. "Great, thanks, Puck. That sure helps."

"Well, what the fuck am I supposed to say? How the hell can I respond to this, dude? I mean, you're fucking telling me I won't see you for a long time, which obviously fucking sucks, because…because, you know…" He pointed to Sam awkwardly, scratching his jaw. "…because."

The younger one looked away with mixed feelings of shyness and hurt. He shrugged his shoulders, showing his defeat. "I'm sorry, man…"

"Yeah, you should be…" Puck sighed, shaking his head.

Sam gave him a shocked look, but it went unseen for Puck wasn't looking at him anymore. However, he understood where his friend was coming from. He and Blaine had caught him in the act and he had lied about it, refusing himself any help. Now, he was here, in a hospital bed, 48 hours away from maybe never seeing his friends again. It sucked so bad, it was unfair, but it was all his own fault. He should've been more honest with them, knowing how much they cared about him. Sam Evans had been a major idiot.

"We need Blaine," Puck admitted after a moment of silence, "he'd probably know what to do."

"What could he possibly come up with?" Sam asked, disbelievingly.

"I don't know," Puck answered, "but he always does."

"That's true…" Sam admitted, "he's the brains…"

"Yup, and you're the heart," Puck replied.

Sam smiled kindly, "and you're the bones."

The two friends stared into each other's eyes for a moment.

"We're sounding way too gay."

Sam snorted, "Maybe it's because of Blaine."

"I knew it was contagious," Puck joked.

"I hope it is," the blond slipped out before he realized what he was saying.

Puck gave him a weird look, scowling a little, "What?"

"I…I, err…" Sam stammered, having shocked even himself. "I…"

"They should seriously consider hiring a new receptionist, because the current one is definitely not suitable for the job," Blaine interrupted. He closed the door behind him, the same proud grin on his face as when Puck had walked in earlier.

"Oh my God, I know right?" Sam instantly responded, glad that he was saved from what could've easily become a very awkward conversation.

They could always count on Blaine to save them.

"So, what's up?" Blaine asked, already sat on the side of Sam's bed.

"Oh, Puck and I were just talking…"

"You have got to be kidding me," Puck groaned, "No! He wants to know why you wanted him to come here!"

"Oh…oh, yeah, duh." Sam stammered, blushing once again. "My parents are putting me in a clinic…"

"What?!" Blaine replied, not seeing the 'I told you so'-look Puck was giving Sam. "How could they do that? You don't need that, you just need some help. I've read about those treatment centres, you could be there for months and it wouldn't even make much of a difference." Blaine looked at his friends' judging gazes. "Okay, it probably would, but still!" he continued, eyes wide, "you can't leave…"

"I don't want to leave, Blainers, but my parents have already decided on it," Sam explained, guilty.

"But…but…" Blaine stuttered, shooting Puck a look, but he only shook his head. "Oh, for crying out loud," the Anderson continued angrily, "no. No, you guys. We're not going to let this happen."

"I've already tried to talk them out of it, but they're putting their foot down…" Sam regretfully replied.

"No. It's not happening. I'm not allowing it," Blaine stood his ground. "You," he pointed to Puck, "with me. We're going over there."

Noah, surprised at Blaine's determined reaction, obeyed. "Yes, sir."

"Don't worry, Samuel, we're coming back with good news," Blaine assured the astonished blond.

Once out of the room, Puck grabbed Blaine's shoulders, forcing him to hold still. "Dude, what's up with all the heroism? You can't tell Sam that we're going to make sure it won't happen. That's giving him false hope."

Puck's eyes widened as he noticed tears brewing in Blaine's eyes, but they were blinked away just as quickly as he noticed. "Well, we've got to at least try, Noah," Blaine explained, "I would've done the same for you. I mean, come on, it's Sam. He's our best friend. Now, I don't know about you, but I, for one, need you guys in my life."

Puck's eyebrows knitted together, realisation dawning on him. "Alright, you're right," he confessed, "let's go."

Blaine, a little psyched by all the adrenaline surging through him as a result of his actions, was continuously readjusting himself in the passengers' seat. He was nervous, but also worked up. If he had this much energy and determination, he and Puck must be able to change the Evans' opinion. But then he remembered something and he turned to Puck, earnestly.

"Hey, Noah, can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

Blaine rolled his eyes, but ignored the answer. "Have you given up on Sam?"

He had never seen Puck's head turn so quickly. "What?!" he voiced accusingly, "Are you fucking shitting me? Of course I haven't given up on him, you little asshole, I just…" He grumbled internally, gritting his teeth. "…I just didn't know what to do to help him."

Blaine mouthed a silent 'oh', apologizing for his disrespectful question. "I'm sorry, but you just seem a bit…I don't know…off? I mean, the things I said in there seem more like your thing, not mine."

"Yeah, well, maybe we affect each other in a certain way," Puck mumbled, causing Blaine to frown. He didn't really understand. "Never mind," Puck waved it away, "I'm trying to deal with some other stuff, too."

"Like what?"

"Nothing important."

"Noah, please don't do this. Talk to me," Blaine said, his voice somewhat pleading.

Puck breathed out as he turned a corner, remembering what keeping secrets had done to his friends. "Do you believe in symbolism?"

"Depends," Blaine answered briefly.

"Well, I don't," Puck replied, "but I've been having these dreams lately and I'm starting to think they mean something."

"What kind of dreams?"

"Nightmares, but they're kind of…creepy, I guess."

Blaine grimaced thoughtfully. "Well, I think certain images could represent something, but they also say that if you dream a lot, you just have a lot on your mind and your subconscious is processing everything."

Puck hummed, considering his friends words in his mind, but when he felt like he wasn't sure of anything he decided to change the subject. "Let's just focus on what we're going to tell Sam's parents for now, yeah?"

Blaine nodded, knowing when he should let something slide with Noah. He had learned that his friend wasn't fond of talking about stuff and wanted to figure things out on his own. "I'm thinking that we could tell them about our plan?" Blaine offered, "Like, convince them that it could make a difference."

"It's worth a shot," Puck admitted with a shrug, "It's not gonna harm them or anything."

"We'll see how they respond to it. We just have to make sure that we stand our ground."

"We're here."

Puck had parked on the side of the road, in front of the Evans' house. Blaine was the first one to get out of the truck, feeling as nervous as Puck, who never would've admitted it. After ringing the bell, the door opened quickly, a surprised Mary Evans coming into view.

"Oh, hi boys, what brings you here?" she asked, frowning a little as she examined them quickly.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Evans, we came to talk to you and your husband, actually. May we come in?" Blaine replied, politely as always.

Questions showed up in Mary Evans' green eyes. She nodded slowly before regaining her composure. "Yes, of course. Come on in," she said, opening the door invitingly.

"Stevie, Stacy, go play in your room," she called to the twins. The tone in her voice had a shimmer of strictness, which made the siblings obey without question. They hurried upstairs silently, leaving the older ones to themselves. "So, what did you want to talk about?" Mrs. Evans asked, even though she was 99% sure of what the answer was going to be. She knew how close her son was with his friends, so it seemed obvious that the conversation was going to be about the choice she and her husband had made.

"Isn't Sam's dad around?" Puck asked, thinking that another casual question would tone down the sudden tension a little.

"No, sweetie, he's working," Mary answered cordially, but briefly.

Puck nodded understandingly, sitting down next to Blaine on the sofa, secretly waiting for his friend to begin the conversation. Naturally, the Anderson didn't let him down.

"Mrs. Evans, we went by Sam earlier today," Blaine started off gently, "and we talked about his future. He told us that you and Mr. Evans are thinking of sending him to a treatment centre."

"We've already decided that, yes," Mary pointed out, still showing a sincere smile. It scared Puck, even though he knew the Evans were very polite and nice folks, Sam's mother's constant smile now hid something underhanded…and dangerous.

The mohawked man couldn't know that she was trying to keep her composure. The decision of sending Sam away hadn't left her and her husband unaffected, but she felt like they should push it through, for the sake of her son's well-being. And honestly, she couldn't be blamed for that.

"We know you have," Blaine continued, "but Noah and I still wanted to talk about it with you, because…" The teenager swallowed, trying to not sound rude or intruding. "…Because we think there's another option for Sam to…get better."

"I appreciate your sympathy, Blaine, but I don't think-"

"Please, hear us out." It sounded more pleading than ushering.

Mary sat back into her seat, crossing her arms expectantly. The fact that she was willing to listening gave the two boys a sense of hope.

"So…Noah and I have been thinking and we came up with a plan. Basically, we want to invite Samuel over for dinner every night to make sure he eats something," Blaine started to explain, trying to sound as convincing as he possible can.

"It's a nice gesture, dear, but it isn't that simple," Mrs. Evans stood her ground.

"No, we know," Blaine anticipated, "We've read all about it online and we know that Samuel's eating disorder is caused by the feeling of losing control. It's not about losing weight; it's about him not having a grip on his life. Accepting that fact, our plan is to give him that sense of control by controlling his eating pattern, but making it a non-destructive habit."

Mary slightly moved her upper body forward, letting Blaine and Puck know that they had caught their interest.

"We figured we could make Samuel aware of just eating healthily. That way, he will still feel like he's in control about something, but in a healthy matter."

Puck had quietly sat back, watching Blaine talk, and he found himself admiring the guy for his strong charisma. His hazel eyes had shifted from his friend to Mrs. Evans occasionally and he could tell it was having an effect. Mary showed consideration and hadn't interrupted him during his speech, which could only be indicated as something good. All the while, Blaine's words also made Puck realize how much he didn't want to lose Sam. The fucker was his best friend and he felt like the blond was one of the few people he could truly be himself with, a special situation to the badass.

"We really think it would work," Noah tried to do his part in supporting Blaine's speech. It granted him a thankful look from his friend, which made something light up inside his guts.

"Honestly, it sounds like a good idea, but you boys have got to realize how tricky it is. Sam's condition is dangerous and I'm sorry, but you're no psychologists."

"No, we're his best friends," Puck stated firmly, a hard look in his eyes.

"And we think that can make a difference," Blaine tried to take away some of his friend's harshness. "We already know him really well and he will probably open up way more easily with us than with some stranger, who only reminds him of his disorder."

Mary narrowed her eyes a little, the wrinkles on her forehead deepening as she remembered. "That's what Sam said, too. He said that he'll feel like 'some sick person'."

Blaine recognized the open shot and a pump of faith made him sit up. "Yes. Yes, exactly. He won't feel like that with us. We know who he is and he knows that too. He realizes we will never look at him differently."

Mrs. Evans sighed, rubbing her temples before she pushed some scattered strands of her blond hair back into place. Both boys were holding their breath, denying that history had proven that Sam wasn't too likely to open up to them, given his lying when they had caught him in the act. Still, they were both equally as convinced about their friend feeling more at ease with them than with a doctor at the clinic.

"Okay, I will talk about it with Sam's father," Mary finally gave in.

Puck and Blaine grinned at each other, a wave of relief washing over them. Mrs. Evans noticed it.

"But that doesn't mean anything," she stated warningly, "if my husband isn't fond of the idea, it's out of the question."

"Duh."

"We understand, Mrs. Evans."

Both boys left the Evans' home excitedly. They didn't know yet if their action had done anything to the current situation at all, but they were already proud of at least Sam's mom reconsidering. They had been chattering about it on the way back to Blaine's house, figuring that they should pick Blaine's car up later since they were stilling going by Sam at the hospital later that evening anyway.

"We can't tell him, though," Puck said as Blaine opened the door to the house.

"Why not?" Blaine asked weirdly, "shouldn't he know that we've talked to his parents? I mean, it was about him after all."

"And give him false hope? Again?" Puck frowned accusingly, reminding Blaine of the words he had voiced when they had left the hospital that same afternoon.

"Yeah, okay…" Blaine sighed guiltily, the look on his face earning him a ruffle of his hair from his friend.

Once they were sat next to each other in the living room, Puck spoke up, "You were really awesome today, you know that?"

"Why?" Blaine asked, blinking confusedly at him.

"Dude, have you heard yourself talk to Sam's ma? And to the guy himself? You were being freaking convincing and shit. Hell, you even made me feel more confident about the whole plan."

"Really?" the smaller one asked for reassurance, although satisfaction was already flickering in his dark eyes.

"Yeah, man, totally," Puck gladly admitted.

Blaine shied away a little, but grinned nonetheless. "Thanks, Noah."

"No worries, bro, just stating the obvious," Puck said, throwing his hands up theatrically in a way that showed sincerity and honesty.

"Do you think Samuel's father will agree?" Blaine asked, changing the subject because he wanted to hear Noah's opinion, but also partly to distract himself from the attention his friend was giving him, knowing it could sometimes confuse him.

"Don't know," Puck shrugged truthfully, "he's an okay guy as far as I know, but I don't know how he is with stuff like this."

Blaine could only sigh at that, he didn't know what kind of answer he had been expecting anyway, all he knew was that Puck knew Sam's parents better than he did, which was kind of obvious since they had been friends longer. Blaine's friendship with Sam had only really started after graduation last year and had improved when the break-up had happened.

Dusk dawned around Lima and dinner had been uneventful for all three of the boys. Little did either of them know that there was some serious talk going on at the Evans' household. Dwight had come home from work and his wife had been waiting for him, anxious to relay the boys' plan to her husband. Blaine's words had sent her straight back to her crossroad; doubts about sending her son away catching her off guard. She felt unable to make a decision, seeing both options vividly. So her husband had to decide on what was going to happen. Sam's fate was in his hands and if one would've asked the teen if that was a good thing, he would've confirmed; forgetting that this person was also his father – a person who cared a lot about him and wanted to make things better. And unfortunately for Sam, desperate times often called for desperate measures.

The clock showed it was a bit past ten o'clock when two phones went off in Lima, Ohio. Blaine and Puck both looked at quickly, not bothering to text back. Thanks to the mohawked guy, it didn't take them long before they were stepping into Sam's hospital room. A look of concern was exchanged when they both laid eyes on their friend; crying silently.

* * *

**Author's Note: Right, I'm really psyched again about my story! I wanted to thank you all for the lovely reviews, they really pump my energy and motivation. Please, keep it up. :3**


	18. Revelations

_Chapter seventeen_

"You guys...are the best..." Sam smiled through his sobs, looking up at his friends with pure gratitude in his eyes. Another joyful tear rolled down his cheek and he wiped it away with a scoff, embarrassed.

"Wait, what?" Puck asked.

Blaine looked at the blond suspiciously, his eyebrows raised in confusion. "If we are the best, then why are you crying, Samuel?"

"Docs said my emotions are coming back and I don't really know how to handle them yet, so…" He blushed in embarrassment. "…So I basically react very…over the top." A chuckle escaped his throat as he wiped away a last tear as it rolled steadily down his cheek. "Anyway, my parents were here just now. They told me what you guys had come up with and…and they're okay with it."

"Dude, are you serious?" the mohawked man asked, searching for reassurance.

"Don't sound so surprised, Noah, it was a good plan," Blaine grinned proudly, patting the taller guy on the back.

Sam snorted. "Yeah, I don't have to go away any more…although; they did say that if things don't get better, they'll still make me go eventually…" He averted his gaze from his friends, knowing that it was in his hands. He was ultimately the only one who would determine as to whether Blaine and Puck's plan would actually work out or not. Honestly, he didn't really feel like he was in control of it, but that was also the main issue of his problems anyway, so he probably just needed to give it some time.

"Ha, as if I'm going to let you out of my sight the moment you leave this hospital," Puck scowled, "I don't fucking care if I have to shove that food down your throat myself."

Sam frowned at that comment. "…You do know it's not about eating, right?"

"Yeah," Puck shrugged easily, "but you two always put such a heavy tension into a conversation and it makes me uncomfortable."

Both Blaine and Sam gaped at their friend. "Well, that was honest."

"Shut up, Anderson."

"No, no, I meant it as a good thing."

"Shut it," Puck repeated, more warningly that time.

"So…you're having dinner with us for next couple of weeks?" Blaine obeyed, quickly moving to change the topic, sitting down on the spot on Sam's bed that he had been claiming as his every time he had been to the hospital.

"Sure looks like it, yeah," Sam answered, a sparkle of excitement flickering in his eyes. Blaine cherished the small moment.

"Awesome, no more weird sick bay smell," Puck brought up, rolling his eyes upwards in some thankful motion.

"Well, at least not for a while," the blond, smiling naively.

Puck groaned. "Dude, don't bum me out."

"I'm not meaning to!" Sam defended himself. "But I do have to come in for check-ups and stuff. And…I mean, you guys will come with me then, yeah?"

"Of course we'll come with you," Blaine answered sweetly, causing Puck to mimic barfing sounds. It made his two friends shy away slightly and he smirked at it, before he ruffled both their hair. Afterwards they blinked weirdly at each other, a chemistry cloaking them that had been there many times before, but had gone unnoticed by them all. They stared into each other's eyes, the air around them tensing up with - what could only be described as - crackling electricity. Blaine was the first one to track and place it; the muscles around his eyes tightening for a split second, making his eyes look wider in a flash of realization. He had felt this kind of energy before, when he had been with Kurt. Was he falling for either of his friends? His eyes darted from Puck to Sam to Puck again, frowning at him, but really at himself, as he tried to figure it out. Oddly enough, he couldn't. He wasn't sure which one of them he liked, but he could feel at least something with both of them.

Sam, on his turn, was just enjoying the atmosphere around him, not really thinking much of it. He was probably just feeling thankful for the two saving him from a – God knows how long – trip to some clinic. His friends had proven to be his rocks again and he was happy that they were both in the same room as him again. Duh, he always felt happy and good and warm when he was around Blaine and Puck, but that was just because they were friends. Friends are supposed to make you feel that way and your best friends are meant to make you feel even _more _special. It was completely normal.

Puck had enjoyed his friends' awkwardness all the while, but that vanished when he also noticed the sudden environment that had dawned on them. His defences went up, his jaw locking and teeth gritting together as he tried to shrug it off. Unfortunately, the pressure wouldn't let go of him and it made him want to punch a wall. Shit had been changing lately and it was annoying him. He never used to get so fucking nervous or weird when there was an intimacy with his friends. This was fucking ridiculous. He scratched the back of his head, thanking God when he remembered something he meant to ask Blaine.

"Hey, dude," he asked for youngest one's attention, bumping his shoulder, "When are your parents coming back from their trip?"

The Anderson shook his shoulders. "I don't know, actually, but it could be soon."

"Yeah, well, you need to figure that out so that I know when to leave," Puck replied sternly.

"You don't have to leave," Blaine objected, slightly offended.

"Oh, come on, man, it's not a secret that your parents don't like me," Noah scoffed, "not everyone can like the Mohawk."

Blaine looked away, chewing on the inside of his cheek before he said, "Well, they'll just have to deal with it."

"No, it's their house, smartass. I'm not gonna impose…"

Blaine eyed him up and down judgementally.

Puck rolled his eyes. "…Or at least not that they know of."

"It doesn't matter. It's more my house now than theirs, since they don't spend a lot of time in it anyway." Something hardened around Blaine's pupils.

"I could ask if you can stay at my place," Sam offered hesitatingly.

Puck snorted. "Dude, no offence, but I think your parents have got enough on their plate already." He indicated to Sam's body with his hand.

The blond sucked in his bottom lip guiltily, knowing his friend was right, but regretting that he couldn't really help him.

"Seriously though, it's fine. I was planning on going back home anyway," Puck lied, "I'm just gonna talk to ma and see what happens."

"Are you gonna apologize?" Blaine asked surprised.

"Don't get your hopes up, but I might."

"But what about your dad?" Sam wondered out loud. "Have you let it go?"

"Nope," Puck answered, "but I don't have much choice other than to accept it."

"I do think that's a good thing…" Blaine made an attempt at comforting him.

The oldest teen nodded as he turned away to the window, staring at the nothingness outside. Should he tell his friends that he thought to have figured something out about his father? Morally, he probably should, but if it turned out that he was wrong it would mean that Blaine and Sam would end up going all sympathetic on his ass, which Puck obviously hated.

"I'll call them tomorrow," Blaine pulled him out of his thoughts.

But he didn't have to.

Early in the morning, right before his alarm would have gone off, his phone went off, brutally waking him. He picked it up sleepily, his voice cracking as he answered, "Good morning, mom."

"Hi baby," Mrs. Anderson chirped, delighted, "Surprise, surprise! Your dad and I are on our way back. He'll probably be back in Lima around noon, but I'm arriving later this afternoon. We'll probably be there to welcome you when you get home from school."

"Okay, sounds good, mom," Blaine responded with mixed feelings. On one hand he was happy about his parents being back again, but he also didn't want Noah to leave.

"Today, huh?" Puck grumbled when Blaine had hung up, turning onto his side so that he could look at the boy. It had been so silent in the room that he had heard the entire conversation, even though Mrs. Anderson hadn't been on speaker.

"Yeah…" Blaine answered depravedly.

"No worries, bro," Puck grinned, punching his friend's shoulder playfully.

Blaine opened his mouth to apologize, but his alarm clock rudely interrupted him. He sighed, pressing the thing off, turning back around to find Noah already standing beside the bed, just wearing his boxers. After a few seconds, the teenager caught himself enjoying the view as he tried to define every strong muscle on Puck's broad back. A certain muscle in his crotch flexed a couple of times and he mentally kicked himself for it.

"Going for a shower, be right back," Noah announced, grabbing his towel from the heater and swirling it around as he left the room.

"Y-yeah…" Blaine mumbled, suddenly finding that his throat had completely dried up. His hands rubbed his face before he mouthed a sincere 'fuck my life'.

Meanwhile Puck was smirking at himself in the mirror, flexing his biceps. Sure, he had felt Blaine's eyes burning into his back, but it made him feel proud and hot. He winked at himself cockily before he stepped into the shower. While he was washing himself, he went back over what he was going to tell his mother. It would prove to be an interesting afternoon again.

An hour and a half later both Blaine and Puck drove off of the Anderson's grounds. Blaine headed to school, slowly finding that he wasn't really thinking about his friends or their woes at all, while Puck moved his truck homewards. Or what had once been his home. Two cars, both heading in opposite directions.

Once in front of the house, he took a deep breath before he opened the door. As expected, his mother was situated at the kitchen table, glasses on her nose and a steaming mug of coffee in her hand as she browsed through the morning's newspaper. Surprise was written all across her facial features when she noticed her son walking in the door, Puck quickly sitting down in front of her.

He looked her straight in the eye, initially doubting himself for another moment before he eventually pushed through. He had to be right, everything added up; the dreams, his mother's reluctance in telling him about his father, the black spots, his own behaviour…

"Dad was an alcoholic, wasn't he?" There was an unfamiliar tone to his voice; no harshness or gentleness. It almost came out like a defeat; an end.

But this was just the beginning.

Mrs. Puckerman breathed out through her nostrils as she put the paper down, looking back at her son intently. Both hands were wrapped around her warm mug now and she spoke, "How did you figure it out?"

Puck shrugged indifferently, "Everything just suddenly fell into place."

"How?"

"I don't know."

His mom's face twisted into confusion, but Puck could see that her defences were down. She had already admitted it. All that was left now was the explanation. That's when realized that he actually had an answer. He had figured things out and had pierced through his mother's walls by putting his finger on the exact right spot and being casual about it. A sense of relief washed over him.

In the end, it had been the dreams that had been the key. At one point, the symbolism had just come to him and from the moment that he accepted that things could have a bigger meaning, everything had just added up and made more sense with every minute.

"The man I married at the time wasn't your father. He started to change over time," Mrs. Puckerman started explaining. "It began with just small things. He used to be romantic and such; spontaneous, even. A lot more, to be honest, but it doesn't really matter what exactly." She sighed, putting down the cup. "I hadn't really noticed that all those things had been fading away. We got busy with work and other things; you had just been born, so that added to it. I thought that it was a common thing in a relationship - that two people just become more serious at one point and you just start building a life together." A soft smile appeared around her lips, the woman - barely visibly - shaking her head at her own bluntness. "Your father had always enjoyed the occasional beer after work, but I didn't think much of it." She looked up at Noah. "Your grandpa was an alcoholic, too. I found out later that it somewhat ran in the family." A strand of her hair had gotten loose from its tugged position behind her ear and she put it back. "Anyway," she recollected herself, "as I said, at the time I didn't really look much into it. But later on, it started to get worse and worse. It had gone by so slowly and in such small portions that I hadn't really noticed it."

"When did you?" Puck asked softly, his guards having lowered as his mother got more into the story.

"When he started to get physical," Mrs. Puckerman answered earnestly, her face showing a cold hardness that could be explained as self-protection.

Puck blinked. "Dad hit you?" he asked.

His mother shifted a little in her chair, crouching forward a little bit. "Tell me, Noah, what do you remember?"

The teenager frowned deeply, digging into his memory. "Not much, I guess…" he answered, unsure of himself, "it's basically a lot of black spots…"

Mrs. Puckerman nodded slowly, waiting patiently before the truth unfolded in Puck's mind. "He used to hit me too, didn't he?"

His mom smiled sadly. "I wasn't fast enough sometimes…" she admitted, regret coating her voice.

Puck remembered his dream; how he had heard screaming voices in it, how he had been hiding, how he had heard thuds, how he smelled the alcohol…it all made sense.

"You were so young…" his mother choked out in a whisper. She swallowed quickly, pulling herself back together. "I think, because you were, your brain has locked away all those memories. You couldn't deal with what was happening around you."

"…And neither could you," Puck added remorsefully.

"Until the day I threatened him with going to the police…"

"…So he walked out on us."

Mrs. Puckerman smiled weakly at her son, taking his hand in hers. "I'm sorry, Noah. I know it's a lot to take in, that's why I wanted to protect you."

Puck gulped, clearing his throat. "I get it," he said softly. He inhaled deeply, but quickly let the air flee from his lungs when he realized something else. "And then I started drinking…"

His mother pursed her lips, nodding a little. "Yeah…" She knew she didn't have to say anything anymore. Her son was putting everything together now, so she just had to give him enough space.

Noah shook his head as flashbacks of the past few months danced in front of his eyes. "I need to go," he suddenly said as he stood up, quickly turning around and walking outside. He needed air; oxygen. He felt like he was choking. Fuck, all this time he had been looking for the truth and it had literally been right in front of him all that time; in the mirror. He had been turning into his dad, his grandpa – apparently – and probably the rest of that side of the Puckerman family. He pounded onto his chest with his fist, putting his hands behind his neck as he tried to catch his breath. The mood swings…the sudden aggression… Oh, Jesus Christ, he had made a scene at Blaine's house _twice_. He had grabbed Sam by his shirt. He had been shouting at his best friends. He had been turning into his dad. He was going to end up abusing his own loved ones. It was in his genes, his DNA. He was going to push away everyone that cared about him; he had already started with his own mother. He was going to end up alone, stuck God knows where.

Puck's breath kept hitching in his throat as he walked along the sidewalk, not really watching where he was going. So many things were coming at him at the same time that he couldn't focus on his surroundings. Hell, nothing fucking mattered anyway. He just found out that he was fucking doomed. He was going to end up alone and was going to fucking waste away, probably end up on the streets like some junkie. He struggled, but managed to curse himself a couple of times.

He never should've started looking for answers.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much again for the reviews! They make me feel really good and I'm so relieved that you guys are that much into this story. I really try my hardest to keep you interested and it's nice that I feel like I'm doing a good job. :3 Keep it up! I appreciate it a lot.


	19. Third

_Chapter eighteen_

For the umpteenth time that early evening, Blaine jammed his phone back into his trousers. The heel of his left foot had been tapping the wooden floor under the dining table numerous times, earning him an irked look from his mother.

"Blaine, honey, stop with that nervous attitude," she warned him, spinning the fork in between her fingers once, "and no cell phones during dinner. You know that's rude."

"Sorry, mother," the teenager sighed apologetically. Ever since Noah had left his house that morning, he hadn't heard from him and Blaine was obviously worrying; possibly too soon, because maybe Puck had been catching up with his mother, since his reason to go home again had been to patch things up. Still, he was concerned and he figured he couldn't be blamed for that, especially not with all the stuff that had been going down with his friends for the past few months. When he got together with Kurt, he had realized that he had a tendency for over-thinking things when it was about people he cared about. However, Kurt had been his boyfriend, so it had been logical that he acted that way, which made it illogical that he was showing the same behaviour when it was about Sam or Puck. On the other hand, it revealed something to him. Blaine liked to think of himself as a very self-conscious person; he knew who he was and what he wanted from life, so he had always been astutely aware of his own actions, which were the result of certain feelings. That particular quality of himself now made him realize something.

He had been starting to feel the same way about his friends as he had done about Kurt.

The awkward moment at the hospital the day before had got him thinking and after some healthy reflection, he had ascertained the worst – and the impossible. There were two things to the matter that confused Blaine and made him want to smack himself in self-loathing stupidity. Apart from the fact that he was sure that both his friends were straight, he couldn't figure out which one he had actually fallen for. They both had totally different qualities that he felt himself attracted to and when he chose either of them, he instantly felt like he was missing out on the other one. Sure, he had heard about polygamous relationships, but he never had never even considered himself as one of those people. Besides, it was ridiculous that he even considered the option, because – as stated before – neither of his best friends were even remotely interested in guys. Yes, they had been close, probably closer than any other guy friends, but Blaine had always figured that it had been because of him. Because Sam and Puck weren't bothered by it and knew Blaine appreciate the contact. He wondered if his friends ever cuddled when he wasn't there; picturing them in Sam's bedroom, the blond's head on Noah's lap as they played videogames. A warm sensation spread through his upper body and Blaine couldn't help but grin silently.

"Remembering something funny, son?" Mr. Anderson noted.

Blaine looked up from his plate, blinking for a moment at his father, before he came back to Earth. "Something like that, yeah…" he answered vaguely, his mind already trailing off again.

A deep breath slipped past his lips. Unbelievable, he had fallen for both his best friends. Typical Blaine Anderson, easily romanticized and swept off his feet. The considerate kindness of the two people had turned into something he wanted to make more out of – idiotically enough.

After finishing his plate and putting down his cutlery, he asked if he could be excused from the table. His mother agreed and Blaine went up to his room, his phone already in his hands as he made his way up the stairs. Still no messages. He dropped himself on his bed, the same fixture that he had spent the night on with his friends so often. A groan was released from his throat as he buried his head in the pillow.

"Unbelievable…" he muttered.

The next morning, Blaine woke up feeling just as miserable as the night before, while Sam opened his eyes excitedly.

"Good morning!" he greeted the nurse cheerfully.

She smiled understandingly at him. "That's right, you're getting released today," she unknowingly confirmed Sam's thoughts.

"I sure am. And I plan on never coming back," the blond replied excitedly, a lump forming in his throat from his happiness. He blew a raspberry at himself; obviously he was still trying to channel and cope with his emotions.

"I'm glad that you're sounding so determined," the woman nodded, "though, I hope you realize, it's not going to be an easy road."

"No, I know," Sam responded, "but I kinda have great friends, so I think I'll be good."

"Yes, I've noticed. You know, their frequent prohibited visits have almost cost my friend's job."

The blond blushed guiltily; knowing she was talking about the lame receptionist Puck and Blaine had slipped past many times. He stuttered something, but the nurse waved it off. "It's fine, I get it." She finished up writing on Sam's clipboard and left the room, leaving a slightly uncomfortable teenager behind.

He shrugged it off, looking for his phone on the small, moveable table next to him, sending a text to his friends, asking if they would come pick him up mid-afternoon. It was Saturday after all, so he knew Blaine would be off school anyway, and Puck…well, Puck always had the time. A minute later the device in his hands vibrated and Sam smiled as he read Blaine's text. Puck hadn't sent anything back, but Sam had expected that, since he figured that his mohawked friend was probably already on his way.

A couple of hours later, this time actually during visiting hours for once, Blaine showed up at the hospital. He smiled at the receptionist innocently, telling her that he was there to see Sam Evans. She nodded silently, narrowing her eyes at him judgementally and Blaine scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "I think you know which room he's in," she stated with an accusing undertone in her voice. The Anderson didn't dare to look her in the eye as he nodded, quickly moving into the hallway.

"Blainers!" Sam exclaimed eagerly, immediately pulling his friend close to his chest in a tight hug.

Blaine sighed against his shirt, mentally kicking himself as he noticed a tingle had sparked through his body. "Happy going home day, Samuel," he smiled after he had let go of his friend's waist.

After taking a step back, he noticed that his friend appeared a little better. Some colour had returned to his face and even though he still looked skinnier than he had ever known Sam, it was at least something.

"Didn't you bring Puck with you?" Sam asked, a little surprised.

"No…" Blaine answered cautiously, "I haven't heard from him for a day…"

Sam frowned. "Odd. I texted him but he hasn't sent anything back. I figured he would just show up like he always does."

"Maybe he will," Blaine responded, sounding a bit more hopeful than he intended to, not wanting to let Sam know that he was worrying. "I think things with his mom have been intense. Remember he said he was going home yesterday?"

"Oh, yeah, that's right," Sam nodded, "oh, well, I don't blame him. It's fine."

Blaine chewed on the inside of his cheek nervously, not sure if he should share his concerns about their mutual friend. Sam was just getting out of the hospital, so he probably already had enough on his mind. Blaine had read that the rehabilitation process of an eating disorder was a long road and once Sam stepped out of the hospital, he would officially be back to his life. Blaine worried that the impact of that might fall hard on him. Relapsing certainly was an option, Blaine realized, and obviously he wanted to prevent that from happening. Besides, it couldn't hurt to keep Sam in the dark for a little while.

"Weren't your parents offended that we're picking you up and not them?" Blaine asked, subtly changing the subject of the conversation.

Sam shook his head. "Nah, they were okay with it. I think they really want to give you guys a chance," he answered, "but we have to be really careful."

"I know," Blaine said, "if something goes wrong, you'll be going to the clinic after all."

Sam smiled weakly. "Yeah…but it won't. I'll get better," he promised confidently.

"Sure," Blaine replied, sounding encouraging, "Noah and I will make sure of that. We trust you."

The blond grinned thankfully, but he had to admit that he felt scared. It was weird how the problem was himself, but still felt like it was out of his hands. If the voice in his head took the upper hand, there was a big chance he would slide back into his old habits and he wasn't sure if he could do something about it. He vowed to himself that, if such a thing would happen, he would alarm his friends immediately. It was probably going to be difficult to ask for help sometimes, but for the fear of the consequences if he couldn't overpower that uneasiness. It was weird how something he feared could be his saving, Sam thought.

"So, are you ready to go?" Blaine asked, looking around to find the room all cleared up and a bag containing Sam's stuff on the made hospital bed.

"Totally, dude," Sam grinned, picking up the bag. He intended to step past Blaine, but the boy's words stopped him.

"I'm really glad you're getting out," Blaine admitted sincerely. He looked at his feet for a moment before he had the guts to direct his gaze into Sam's eyes again. "I've missed you," he mumbled silently, fumbling with his fingers behind his back.

"Me too," Sam smiled with pursed in lips, ruffling Blaine's hair. "C'mon, let's go."

They left the hospital with huge smiles painted on their faces, stepping into Blaine's car, which would bring Sam homewards.

"God, I'm so excited to see the twins again," Sam exclaimed. "I feel like I've been apart from them for ages!"

Blaine smiled gently, admiring the family person Sam always was. "I bet you are. They're gonna be happy, too, you know."

"Speaking of happy family…" Sam suddenly said, "How are things with your parents? Are they still trying to take you out and include you in doing fun stuff?"

Blaine snorted. "No, not yet, although things sure have changed," he explained, "They're showing more interest in how I'm doing and such, but I think they've processed the whole drama scene I put on during the musical. I think the shock has worn off and they see I'm doing well."

"And is that true?"

The curly haired guy sighed, now having to admit that his loneliness had been gone, but that was probably only due to Blaine realizing that he'd found himself a new love interest…interests, even. "Yes, I'm okay," Blaine answered briefly, making sure to sound confident, so that Sam wouldn't ask any further questions. Last night he had decided that he would never tell his friends about his growing feelings for them. The risk of losing them was too big and he sure didn't want to fall back into his little black hole of emptiness. Staying friends and dealing with his crush would most likely prove to be difficult, but he had more faith in dealing with that than in being alone again.

The weather that day was nice for early February. The wind was still cold, but at least the sun was out. Somewhere, it seemed like a reflection of the boys' state of mind. The rays of light representing something good, but the cold wind still coating them in something they were feeling uneasy about. For the ones in the car the relations had been obvious; Sam's release, but fear for the future and Blaine's profound love for his friends; but the anxiety that it would screw things up.

But there was a third person who could be associated with the weather. And that particular human being was found a couple of miles away from Blaine's car, in the park.

Puck coughed the alcohol out of his lungs, which had accidently taken the wrong junction in his, now burning, throat. After he had caught his breath, he looked up at the sun, smiling. Hell, it was a nice day out, a bit too cold, but it wasn't like he could've felt his limbs anyway. He had been drunk for 24 hours now; apart from the time he had been asleep in his truck. The battery in his phone had died and even though he had a charger in his car, he didn't want to be bothered. He wanted to drown in his little pool of self-loathing and poisonous booze, living up to the expectations the universe had pointed out for him. He was born to do this. It was his fate; his destiny. Since he had accepted that there had actually been meaningful symbolism in his dreams, Puck was now convinced that everything had already been planned out for him. If it had been done by God, the universe or maybe even society, he didn't care. This was the road he had been walking on and he had finally gotten to a dead end. His father had walked it – hell, probably even his grandfather had walked that road. There was no getting out of it. The only thing he had to do was accept and embrace it. If this was who he was supposed to turn out to be, he had to find peace with that. And hell, with a drunken mind that didn't even prove to be a difficult job.

He cleared his throat, removing the phlegm from it. He wasn't surprised that he had gotten a cold. Taking another swing from the brown bag covered bottle of Jack Daniels, he noticed that the humid air had managed to creep through his leather jacket. He scrambled up on his feet, taking a moment to retrieve his balance on them. An old woman who was passing by with her dog shook her head as she looked at him. Puck saw it and irritation piqued him.

"What ya' looking at, you old hag?!" he spat out to her with an angry look on his face.

The woman looked away, quickening her pace as she walked by, scared to get into trouble with some drunken youth – which Puck was to her.

The mohawked man spat on the grass, bussed and made his way back to his truck. The walk towards it had been unsteady, the world jumping up and down in front of his eyes. But he had gotten there. Once inside, he started the engine, which sputtered in objection at first, but then roared. He turned on the heating, rubbing his hands in front of the blowers, the bottle held safe between his legs.

When he started to feel his fingers again, he noticed the cord of his phone charger. Bored, he figured he'd plug his phone in and play a game or something on it. The device turned on after a while and once it had shown the home screen, it beeped. He had received a few missed calls from both his mother, Blaine and Sam. The latter had also messaged him and Puck opened the text.

"Fuck!" he cursed angrily. He had totally forgotten about Sam. Jesus Christ, how the hell could he have done that? The guy was finally out of that God-forsaken hospital and Puck had freaking forgotten! He had let him down.

Just like his dad had let him and his mother down. The realization fell hard on him, which indicated that, even though he was acting like it, he hadn't accepted his fate yet. He had missed out on an important day for one of his best friends, because he had been too busy with wasting it himself. It frustrated him, causing him to drink more. The vicious cycle had started once again and this time, Puck finally felt like he was stuck. He was stuck in it, because he knew. He knew what he was doing, knew he had a gene for addictive alcoholism and had embraced that demon instead of fighting it, thinking that it would've been a lost battle anyway.

Pitying himself, he grumbled, deciding to send a message to his friends, letting them know the friendship was over. It was only a matter of time before he would start pushing them away anyway. Fortunately for them, he still had some sense of morality left; just enough not to make it a slow and painful breakup. Luckily, he could still sympathize enough to just cut all ties and let them know, making the whole thing less of a big deal. It was a simple and clear message, more stating the obvious than a cry out for help.

It was sad that Puck's current state obstructed him from reminding himself that his friends wouldn't take it that way.

"What the hell?" Sam said as he read the text.

"What?" Blaine asked, unable to check his phone since he was driving.

"It's Puck," Sam explained, "he thanks us, says goodbye and tell us to not come looking for him."

The Anderson instantly hit the brake, causing the seatbelt in to cut into Sam's shoulder. He cried out a curse. "Blaine, dude!"

"Let me read that," Blaine demanded, clawing the phone out of Sam's hands, thinking that it would be quicker than to retrieve his own from his pocket. "You have got to be kidding me," he said as his eyes read past the lines.

"I guess the talk with his mom didn't work out…" Sam muttered sadly, catching his bottom lip between his teeth.

Blaine groaned, rubbing his temples with his index and middle fingers. "We have to go and find him."

"Well, duh," Sam replied in an obvious way. "My parents will probably get it. As I said, they've been very understanding."

"Yeah, but we shouldn't test them," Blaine reminded him wisely, "call them and let them know you'll be a little bit later than expected, but that you're okay."

Sam nodded and obeyed, dialling his home number. Typical Blaine, always so clever, he thought when he heard the satisfaction in his mother's voice from letting her know where he was and how he was doing. He knew better than to tell her what was going on, though.

"Where do we start?" Blaine wondered out loud, starting his car again.

"I don't know…." Sam answered honestly, "If you were Puck, where would you go?"

Blaine sighed wistfully. "Where wouldn't you go when you don't have anywhere to go?"

"Oh, come on, there has to be some lead…" Sam tried to convince Blaine.

"Okay, okay, think." Blaine concentrated, revisiting his memories as to when his best friend had been drunk before.

Sam did the same, staring out the side window. He watched the stores, houses and trees passing by silently, digging into his mind. Then, his stomach grumbled and he found himself at a crossroad. His first intention was to ignore it, since there was something more important to worry about; on the other hand, he knew he should listen to it.

But the decision was made for him, because Blaine had heard it too. "We're dropping by the gas station first. Have you eaten today?" he asked.

"Breakfast, couple of hours ago," Sam answered.

"Alright, you should probably get a sandwich or something," Blaine said. "What do you feel like?"

Sam thought for a moment. He had to dig deep into his appetite to find something that appealed to him, knowing that if he would pick something randomly he probably wouldn't eat it. "Can I have an apple?" he asked, "One of those green, real sour ones."

Blaine smiled proudly. He had taken notice that Sam was really trying and even though it was only the first day, he was relieved. "Sure, but I don't think they sell them there, so we'll have to drop by the grocery store."

They were close by, so it only took fifteen minutes before Sam was munching on the piece of fruit. Sam looked at him occasionally, enjoying the sight of his friend. Sam had noticed it, though, and it made him shy away a little. He felt like a little kid, the way Blaine's dark eyes looked at him with such care. He turned his head away from him, looking out the window again, more bricks and trees passing by. Suddenly, a memory hit him and he sat up fiercely.

"Third tree to the left!" he exclaimed.

"Come again?" Blaine asked, furrowing his brows in confusion.

"The third tree to the left!" Sam repeated, worked up, "That's what he always says when he's drinking! Don't you remember that one time a couple of months ago? He's at the park!"

"It's worth a shot," Blaine shrugged, spinning the car around at the next crossroads.

"No, no, I'm right!" Sam continued, "He likes the feeling of the grass. Hell, we found him in your backyard one day."

"Oh, yeah…" Blaine remembered, blinking, shocked. He hit the gas some more, almost adopting Puck's driving style.

"Look! There's his truck!" Sam almost shouted, wildly pointing his finger in front of Blaine's vision.

He stopped, not bothering to park the car neatly into the lot. Sam had already unbuckled himself and got out first, jogging up to the familiar vehicle. Panting, he realized that his body was still weak and he leaned himself against the metal of the truck as he looked through the window.

"He's not there…"

* * *

**Author's Note: **Dear readers, I am pleased to tell you that I've finished writing this story. My lovely boyfriend/beta reader is revising it as we speak. It won't be long till I'll post the rest of the chapters. Please, do review. Your thoughts inspire me.


	20. Circle

**Make sure to read the author's note at the end of this chapter.**

* * *

_Chapter nineteen_

"He's probably in the park," Blaine reminded Sam when he caught up to him. "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly, putting his hand on his friend's shoulder. Sam was still catching his breath from his little jog.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I guess I'm just totally out of shape," Sam calmed him, smiling gently.

Blaine nodded, retrieving his hand. "Come on," he said, "he has to be around here somewhere."

Sam disposed of his finished apple and the two boys went looking, trying to catch a glimpse of their friend.

"You don't think he has done anything stupid, do you?" Blaine asked when he had checked his phone again.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, his message isn't very comforting," Blaine fired back.

"…No, he wouldn't…" Sam replied, unsure. "…Right?"

Blaine sighed in annoyance; his friend's response didn't soothe him at all. He couldn't blame him, though; Sam probably just didn't want to give him false hope. Frustration welled up inside of him. How could Noah do this to him? He couldn't take care of both Sam and his other friend. Noah had always been his foundation, the steady person he could fall back on. The blond thought the same way about him. Puck had always managed to keep them with both feet on the ground, weighing them down, stopping them from floating away in their own bubbles of thoughts. They couldn't possibly manage without him. They were best friends.

"There!" Blaine suddenly shouted, a mixture of relief, desperation and excitement coating his voice.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Puck cursed when he looked up from his laying down position on the grass. "Can't you fuckers just listen for once?"

"Shut up, you asshole, before I fucking shove that bottle up your ignorant ass!"

Sam and Puck both watched in astonishment as the words left Blaine's mouth. They had never heard him curse before.

"Oh…" Puck whispered, his ego shrinking to the smallest amount possible.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Blaine continued on his rant. All of the bottled up emotions he had been feeling were now pouring out like water breaking through a cracked dam. "Were you seriously going to fucking leave us or something? Are you out of your freaking mind?! How the hell do you think that makes us feel?!"

Puck blinked up at Blaine like a kicked puppy; the alcohol strengthening his emotions.

"You can't just walk out on us! Not after the mess we've been through. You're our best friend. We can't possibly cope without you, you selfish piece of shit," Blaine spat out, angrily motioning with his hands. Clearly, he wasn't realizing how much impact his words were having.

But Sam did connect the dots. "Blaine…" he called out, putting his hands on both his shoulders in an attempt to settle him down. It worked, because the smaller one calmed down instantly; the touch of a crush had that effect on a person. He glared down into Noah's eyes and it was then that he saw the hurt inside of them.

What Blaine hadn't realized, was that he had been throwing out the exact same things Puck wanted to say to his own father. The contrast was weird and confusing and it had hit the oldest guy right where it hurt most. Hearing someone else voice his deepest and most secret rage was difficult and confusing, but mostly painful as hell. Tears washed over his eyes as he stared hurtfully back at Blaine, his jaw slightly dropped open. The look in his eyes made things click in Blaine's mind and he whispered, "Oh my God…Noah…"

"He was an alcoholic," Puck suddenly burst out, "he used to hit me and my ma. One day, she threatened to go to the police and that's why he walked out on us."

Sam had let go of Blaine and dropped himself beside Noah, resting his hands on his knees and rubbing his thumbs over them, feeling the cold humidity in the fabric.

"Noah, I'm so sorry…" Blaine stammered, not daring to move.

"I'm like him," Puck went on, "I drink to feel numb. I get aggressive. I hurt." He swallowed around the lump in his throat, tears steadily, silently, wetting his cheeks. It was the first time he had cried over the whole situation. He had always managed to restrain himself from breaking down over it and now here he was, unable to fight the urge to just fall apart anymore. "I'm gonna end up like him," he voiced, letting his deepest fear out.

"You don't have to," Sam said comfortingly, moving one of his hands to Puck's shoulder, massaging it.

"I'm going to. It's a given," Puck kept on, grasping at Sam's hand, "apparently alcoholism runs in the family. It's in my genes."

"So?" the blond replied, "That doesn't mean you don't have a choice."

"But what if I slip?" Puck sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hands, "What if I hurt someone sometime in the future?"

"You won't," Blaine now spoke up, bucking his knees so that he could sit down too. "You're not your father."

"You can just stop drinking," Sam reminded him.

Puck looked from his one friend to the other. "But it relaxes me," he confessed softly, "It's the only way I can vent my frustration."

"So we'll find you something else," Blaine offered encouragingly.

The guy with the Mohawk rubbed his face. "I don't wanna end up hurting you guys. That would seriously kill me."

"You'll hurt us by pushing us away…" Sam murmured, upping his brows innocently.

Puck sighed, finding himself stuck. Leaving would be wrong, but so would staying. Not if he stopped drinking, though.

"You guys really think I can stop drinking?" he asked, searching for reassurance.

"Yes."

"Of course."

The guy breathed out heavily, deciding that he didn't have another way out. He shrugged lightly. "Alright then." He looked at the bagged bottle next to him and picked it up. Both Blaine and Sam held their breaths as he did so and Puck stood up. He swirled over to a nearby trashcan and after a last look at the object in his hand, dumped it.

His friends released the air out of their lungs, but then gasped when Puck nearly fell flat on his face when he tried to walk back over to them. "Still drunk," he chuckled lightly, his old, signature smirk returning to his lips. Sam snorted and Blaine shook his head, both standing up.

"Come on, let's fix you up."

Blaine drove them to Sam's house. They had decided to go there since they still had to drop the blond off. Once through the front door, Puck tried to act as casually as he possibly could while Sam reunited with his siblings, hugging them tightly.

"Hey, you guys," he greeted them before he tried to pick them up. He managed, although he was sure they had become much heavier in the past week.

"How are you feeling, son?" Dwight asked his eldest as Mary went over to Blaine to thank him for bringing Sam home.

"I'm good, dad, had an apple for lunch," Sam replied, smiling, a sense of pride overcoming him.

Mr. Evans nodded. His wife made a move to disagree, ready to argue that a single apple wouldn't provide enough sustenance, but then realized stuffing her son with food would only counter his road to full recovery.

"I'm going to put my stuff upstairs," Sam announced, offering Puck a chance to get out of his parents' sight.

Naturally, the guy didn't realize and just stood there smiling like an idiot, but Blaine – gently, yet forcefully – pushed him out of the living room. The stairs were an obstacle it itself, but with a little help, Puck managed.

They entered the room and Puck let himself fall on the bed, groaning loudly. Blaine shushed him nervously while Sam quickly shut the door.

"Sleepy times," Puck mumbled, his eyes already closed.

Blaine rolled his eyes, but Sam found it a good idea. "Sweet dreams, dude," he grinned, putting all his strength into pulling the covers out from under Puck's body and covering him with them.

He sat down on the edge, rubbing some dirt off Puck's bicep. "Hell of a day, huh?" he said when he had turned to Blaine.

The younger one nodded, looking down at his friends, going back to wondering if his friends ever cuddled when he wasn't there. He could've asked, but didn't want to make things uncomfortable. He continued looking at the repeated movements Sam's hand was making across Puck's arm – probably not even noticing that he was still doing it himself – and smiled. In that moment, he admitted it to himself. He had fallen for both his best friends. He didn't know how it was possible, but he did know that he couldn't choose. Sam was such a sweet guy, but Noah was strong. Noah was safe, but Sam was easily approachable and warm. How could he, by any chance, choose between those different, but also similar, qualities? He wanted both of their personalities in his life, not just one of them. Even the thought of making something more out of just one of them felt plain wrong.

And while Blaine accepted his feelings, Sam questioned his. He remembered his feelings when he was around his friends and when he had made some weird comment to Puck about Blaine's gayness being contagious. What if he was worrying for a reason? Was he gay? No, that was ridiculous, he was sure he had been in love with Quinn and Mercedes. Puck, Blaine and him were just very good friends.

Although…now that he was thinking about it…was there a difference in how he was feeling towards his friends and those two girls? He frowned at himself, studying Puck's features in front of him. He didn't want to miss the guy for the world. They had had so much fun over the past few years and he liked Puck's sense of realism. Besides, he was a daredevil, being his friend had been an adventure from day one. Sam had done so many new things, things he was maybe scared of at first, but Puck had always given him the confidence to get over that fear.

He averted his gaze downwards; Blaine's shoes come into view. It caused his thoughts to trail off from Puck towards his other friend, but he didn't dare to look up at and examine him like he had done with Puck, because Blaine might look back and it would definitely be awkward. Blaine had been his buddy for quite a while now too. Sam looked up to his wisdom and the guy was always so understanding. He always had a plan for everything. 'Sides, he cared the world for him. Then again, Puck did also.

He went back to trying to make out the difference between his friends and Quinn and Mercedes, but couldn't figure it out. Did that mean he maybe was bisexual? The thought sounded weird to him, but it also had a sense of something appealing. He hadn't minded kissing Blaine and Puck months ago. It had felt nice, even, very divergent. A nice change for a while, he had to admit.

Both Sam and Blaine's train of thoughts were stopped when Mary's voices reached their ears from downstairs. "Boys, are you all staying for dinner?" she asked.

Sam looked at Blaine, who nodded and then at Puck, who was out for the count. "Yeah, they are!" Sam called back.

"We could set our plan in motion!" Blaine offered, quite excited that an opportunity had finally presented itself after so long.

"Oh, yeah, we can!" Sam remembered, "Come on, let's go downstairs and talk it through."

"Won't your parents ask where Noah is?" Blaine asked.

Sam thought for a second. "We'll just say that he's busy playing Assassin's Creed."

Blaine shrugged, impressed with Sam's intuition. "That'll do."

The boys went downstairs to deliberate with Sam's parents, which was a good thing, as they could now see how their plan would work exactly. Half an hour later, Sam had thought of something healthy that he wanted to eat. Just discussing and having a say in it gave him a sense of control, which made sure that the voice in his head stayed silent.

An hour before dinner time, they woke up their friend, who had been asleep soundly.

"Noah, come on, wake up," Blaine said as he pulled on his shoulder.

The guy grumbled, shaking away from the touch and rolling over. The Anderson turned to Sam, who smirked deviously. He bent down, hovering over Puck and squeezed his nose with his fingers. He heard the breath hitching in his friend's throat and he coughed, and then shot upwards with a shocked look on his face. An unwise decision, because his head instantly throbbed. He cried out a curse, grabbing his forehead.

"You're so pretty when you're hungover," Blaine chuckled.

"Aspirin," Puck demanded, grumpy.

Sam had been prepared, a small white pill already put down on his bedside table, a glass of water by its side. He had casually snuck it up with him when he and Blaine had come up from downstairs. He handed the two objects to Puck, who took them greedily.

Blaine and Sam sat down on the bed next to him. "How're you feeling?" the blond asked.

"Like I got hit by a plane," Puck muttered, cranky.

"Well, enjoy it, since it's going to be the last time you'll ever feel this way," he reminded him, figuring that Puck had forgotten half of what happened.

But he hadn't. "I know, I'm really looking forward to it." He mustered a smile.

Silence fell around the three boys while they looked at each other. Small grins slowly appeared across their facial features, when they all realized the same thing. It was Sam who decided to bring it up.

"You guys feel that?" he asked.

Puck nodded slowly, a sincere look on his face.

"Yeah…" Blaine confirmed.

"It's one of you guys' stupid silences that make me uncomfortable," Puck lied, jokingly.

"Except for it's not," Sam pointed out the obvious.

"I know that, smartass," Puck fired back, bumping the blond's shoulder playfully. "We're all fine."

"Exactly," Blaine assented. "It's that happy feeling."

"Where you know everything is okay," Sam added.

"The nice kind of numbness, because you're not worrying about anything," Puck finalized.

They were sat in a triangle, Puck resting with his back against the wall, Sam sitting crossed legged and Blaine sideways. Dark met emerald, who met hazel, who met dark, who met hazel, who met emerald.

"I love you."

It was the beauty of the English language. 'You' could be plural.

**THE END**

* * *

**Author's Note: **This is the first story I've officially finished. I've enjoyed the journey so much and I'm really glad that I've done it.

But, there is some important stuff I'm sure you loyal readers would like to hear. "Black" has been mainly about the dark side of the characters and about their development. I think of it as quite a dark story and I didn't get the chance to get more into their relationship with each other. A few chapters ago, I asked you guys which of the three boys you were shipping. I did that to get some feedback on my writing. When you guys would say Blam, I would put in more Spuck and Plaine, because, guys, from the first chapter of this story, I had already decided that this was going to be an OT3. It's where I got the title from: **Bl**aine, S**a**m, Pu**ck**; **Black**. Now, the personal issues of the guys had became the main subject of this story, while I actually wanted to define and get more into a threeway relationship. I wanted to write something that'll make you see how it would work and how they would fit. That's why there's going to be a sequel. If you think logically, I even think you can figure out the title for it already. ;p

So, Black has ended now, but we're still gonna follow Blaine's, Sam's and Puck's relationship. An epilogue has been written for this story, which will be the prologue of the sequel, so remember that when you get a notification for another chapter of this story, it'll mean that the first chapter of the sequel is out too. ;)

Thank you, readers, for your lovely support, reviews, favorites and follows. I love you and I hope you will stick with me during the next story I'm about to step in. :]

Thank you.

_And don't forget to put your last thoughts out there. ;p Review!_


	21. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

The three most meaningful words thinkable had been spoken, and the quietness that had filled the room shifted slowly into a much warmer one. Not suffocating, not awkward, not uncomfortable, but one filled with the sweet, simmering scent of realization.

And slight confusion.

"Wait, what?" Sam asked, shocked, eyes quickly blinking. "In what kind of way?"

"Yeah," Puck added to his friend's words, "and who was that to? Who do you love?"

The colour had drained from Blaine's face. He had unwittingly said the words in a momentum of emotions; an impulse. But now he had to explain himself. He had to come clean. He swallowed, first stammering a little before he grabbed what was left of him together. Taking a deep breath, Blaine started to explain.

"I love both of you," he revised himself, "I don't know how. I really don't, but I do. I…"

"Wait, you're _in _love with us?" Puck interrupted, astonished.

Blaine's face's fell while he realized that he could've talked himself out of it, but had failed miserably. "I…I…" he stuttered.

Suddenly Sam sucked in a loud breath, gasping when it hit him. "Oh, God…" he exclaimed before his voice turned quieter, "oh, God…oh, God…oh, God." There really wasn't any difference in his feelings for his friends and for Quinn or Mercedes. He was in love. He was bisexual.

"What?!" Puck exclaimed, "you too?!"

Blaine lit up. "Samuel? You feel the same way? Also for me _and _Noah?"

When Sam nodded speechlessly, Puck realized that both his friends were in love with him and with each other. An exciting sensation seemed to explode inside his chest, and with every beating of his heart; the blissful warmth was pumped through his veins and spread throughout his body.

His eyes widened. He had never felt something like this before. Never. Was it…? "Oh, for fuck's _sake_."

Two sets of pupils had now directed their attention to him, but they didn't have to ask anything. Noah's expression said enough.

"Oh, God, the dream! It wasn't about my dad!" he exclaimed, "I was hiding in a closet!" His hands were hopelessly held out in front of him.

Sam dropped himself backwards on the bed and Blaine grinned foolishly.

"So you guys do feel the same way?" he asked excitedly, faithful to the last.

Both Sam and Puck stayed quiet, their minds busy processing the new information. They loved each other. This was huge. How? How could they have fallen in love with two guys? The fact that they had feelings for another male was shocking enough on its own, but two?!

"Well…it does make sense…I guess…" Sam spoke softly. He sat back up again, now looking awkwardly around him. "I've been feeling stuff for a while now, but I just thought it was because you guys are my best friends…"

"Dude, I thought I didn't _do _love. How the hell was I supposed to know that this…" Puck motioned in between them with his hands, "…was it?" His eyes widened again. "Jesus, I've been denying it…"

Blaine rubbed his face. "Okay, okay…this is a lot to take in all at once. Let's take a moment to settle down," he offered.

"To settle down?!" Sam exclaimed, "dude, this is…this is amazing."

"Amazing?" Blaine asked. Sure, he found that, but he didn't think Sam would already have come to terms with it.

The blond was a bit more simplistic and accepting than he had known, though.

"I think I'm going to be sick…" Puck muttered, grabbing his stomach.

"…That could also be the hangover," Blaine reminded him sternly, kind of offended.

"Oh…yeah…." Noah stared at his friend, both helplessly and innocently, "…So…what now?"

A shout sounded from downstairs and Sam spoke up when he had looked away from the door.

"Dinner, I guess."

* * *

**Author's Note: **That was officially _it _for Black! Finally, I may put this story as 'Compelte'. Thank you for reading and reviewing it! :3


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